Consequences of Falling
by ScissorPrincess
Summary: Nine years ago the war had ended. Eight years ago Hermione left Hogwarts, rejected. Battling her way through personal wars and complications she became the woman no one thought she would, having endured hardships no one knew were possible, all at the hands of the woman she loved most. Can a new DADA position turn back the clock and right wrongs? Rated M for Mature. MM/HG Femslash.
1. Chapter 1

The name is Scissors, pleased to meet you readers!

This story is just me blithering on about angsty romance, I sorta like that stuff. Sure, it's mostly cliches but whatever, it's fun to write our two lovely ladies in some drama sometimes.

A lot will be revealed through the chapters and it is definitely... Definitely... going to be rated M for mature. There will be sex. And it will be pretty graphic. I'm just going to warn you now. Not in every chapter (Sorry to all the smutheads), but still. Flashbacks are vital to the story.

Also... I'm newish. I used to post here wayyyy back when, but have had to take a serious break due to a lot of reasons. Mostly school and life. Now things are way easier, my time is way more open, and I get to do the things I love to do again! Like write. Sexy lady femslash shit. Alright. So... here it is.

Truly,

+Scissors+

p.s. : I almost forgot! Comments and reviews feed my soul. I love to hear what you have to say and I take it to heart. Even if you think this is a piece of garbage and are like "Dude... Your shit is shit", I still appreciate it!

Again... Thank you. 

* * *

Complications Of Falling

Ch. 1

The day was hot and the sun was high. A clear, cloudless, blue sky hung overhead and, indeed, it was beautiful. A beautiful day. Hermione, still kneeling in the dirt, cast her gaze down the flower bed she'd been tending to for, what felt like it could have been, the better part of the day. Tulips galore. Stems, like thin green soldiers, lined row after row, five columns in all, planted with care and patience by the witch. It was a pleasant hobby, a great distraction, from everything else that played behind chocolate brown eyes. The majority of the time it was these little tedious tasks that gave her the greatest pleasure; tending to flowers, pouring over heaps of research for the Ministry of Magic, home repairs... It was a nice little bubble, far from prying eyes and frivolous conversation, meaningless interactions, which left her feeling drained and exhausted.

Lifting herself from the fresh mud, she wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her gloved hand. She was pleased with herself and her work, so much so, in fact, that she thought it high time for a cigarette and a glass of whiskey. Hermione could afford such a luxury as to relax now that the work for the day had been done.

It had been nine years since the Battle of Hogwarts, eight since she'd graduated her final year, and not once since she'd taken her leave of the castle had she returned. Her life had been a mixture of adventures and losses, work and little more, she managed to avoid getting close to anyone. Even Harry and Ronald felt the distance. Long gone were the days when the golden trio held any relevance. She saw the boys maybe three or four times a year. The meetings were always short. They seemed to understand, but she knew, beyond the polite pleasantries and the promise of decent conversation, that they missed her. It didn't matter. Hermione was as happy as she could have ever hoped to achieve with her property and her quiet daily routine. It was easy – there were no surprises and no let downs. What more could she have asked for?

The woman strolled the short distance from her garden to the back door of her home, a quaint little property quite a few miles north of The Burrow. A brick foundation, solid and well constructed, large windows, vines creeping towards the shingles... It was everything she had hoped for in a house. It was cozy, warm, and it was worth every galleon spent.

Tucking into the entrance from the back garden, Hermione tossed her soiled garden gloves into the bowl on the table by the door. She glanced up for a fraction of a moment only to see her reflection in the mirror hung there. She paused.

Her eyes scoured the face. What once were warm brown eyes peered back with a coldness, a detached look about them, born from time and the memories that plagued her daily. Two thin white lines, scars, snaking down through right eyebrow, over eyelid, curving over cheek to jaw... A little trophy of a fight which had been won. A deep wrinkle between her brows, the beginning of crows feet in the outer corners of her eyes, laugh lines deepened... Not from proper use, but from the scowl that had taken hold of the muscles of her face. Hermione rarely smiled, even more of a rarity was laughter, now she more often looked severe, controlled, and... She looked nothing like she did.

A tap on the window shook her from these rolling thoughts and she turned to investigate the noise, her brow knitting in confusion. She rounded the kitchen table to see beyond the thin, grey curtain of the window above the kitchen sink. An owl. She knew this bird. Hermione immediately parted the curtain and cracked the window open enough for the owl to hop down into the counter top, where the creature outstretched its leg to offer Hermione the letter attached. Signature Hogwarts stationary.

Wordlessly, Hermione reached for an owl treat in a bowl on the counter, offering it to the large, tawny bird as she removed the letter from its leg and peered at the writing. Loopy, precise... Undoubtedly Minerva McGonagall's. The owl gave a soft hoot and ruffled its wings, Hermione softly said thank you to the creature who peered back at her with a semblance of understanding before it hopped back onto the windowsill and took flight.

Eight years... Why now? Why when life was beginning to feel settled and somewhat comfortable? What did _she_ want?

Hermione glanced over the envelope but didn't open it, instead she held it in her hands and turned her back to the open window, leaning against the counter. Contemplation. To open and read it or to throw it into the fireplace and watch it burn. The latter option was enticing but her curiosity was heightened by the fact she wanted to know what Minerva had to say for herself. A flash of a memory caused the brunette to swallow hard as a flood of emotions, feelings that had remained dormant for a long time, rushed through her veins.

 _The young woman woke with a start. Opening her eyes, she blinked away the sleep and reached a hand to feel the other side of the bed. Empty. No warmth. A rarity it was that her lover woke before her, or maybe she had slept in longer than she had meant to. Thin rays of light shone through the window curtains where seams didn't quite meet. Hermione threw the covers off her body and crept towards the chair in the corner of Minerva's bedroom where, as per usual, her clothes lay folded. It was the least the older woman could do considering it was her hands that had often been the ones to rip off the fabric and throw it across the bedroom floor in piles. A smile curled the corners of Hermione's mouth at the thought._

 _She made quick work of pulling on her blue jeans and grabbing her crisp white shirt, typically a part of her school uniform, but recently just an addition to her casual attire. She was, after all, graduating in a day. Exams and classes were finished. The uniform was now nothing more than a few articles of clothing she could look back on with pleasant memories. She tucked her shirt into her jeans and strolled passed the bed, grabbing her wand off the dresser beside the bathroom, she gave it a flick in the direction of large four-poster and suddenly it was made; sheets were tucked, pillows fluffed, duvet straightened... Pleased, she carried on into the private bathroom and quickly brushed her teeth and combed her hair, readying herself for the day._

 _Hermione cracked the bedroom door and stepped out into Minerva's living space once she was prepared. Immediately the older woman caught her eye, sitting at the table, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands. She didn't look up from the surface of her drink. There was a shift in the air. Looking troubled, Minerva's features bore the all too familiar severity that Hermione had grown used to when either someone was in shit, or something horrible was going to happen._

 _"Good morning, love." Hermione murmured as she crossed in front of the couch and made her way towards her seated lover. Minerva looked up from her coffee and the expression on her face, unflinching, made Hermione stop at the end of the coffee table, in front of the fireplace. Minerva said nothing. Confusion and concern wrote itself across the young witch's face. Was she missing something? Such a cold reception was not the norm, which begged the question; Why?_

 _Minerva didn't know how to say it. She wanted to say so many things. She wanted Hermione to finally let it go, move out and on, stop toying around with her and her heart. This was an affair that had carried on for too long, and now it was ending. Hermione would go forth, lead a life, further her education, work for the Ministry, and Minerva knew that, as for herself, she would stay behind, remain here as Headmistress. She had responsibilities and a duty to her school, to her staff and students, and this... Distraction... It had to stop._

 _The elder woman could see by the expression plastered across her lover's face that she hadn't the slightest idea what was going on. Of course, they had spent a night of passionate love making... Or, perhaps, it was just fucking. She couldn't bring herself to care any longer. It was only a matter of time before Hermione realized her potential and moved on to another, more youthful, partner anyway. These months had been a great joy and pleasure... But an affair isn't a relationship, they had no obligation to one and other, and so, as much as it pained Minerva to be the adult in this mess, she had to put a stopper on it before it got too far; before she was too invested... And before Hermione really hurt her._

 _"Last night was, truly, lovely... But that was the last time we'll be doing this, Miss. Granger." Minerva stated softly. She afterwards lifted her mug and took a sip of her coffee, watching over the rim as Hermione registered the words uttered._

 _Hermione shifted her weight onto a foot and raised her arms, folding them over her chest, casually. Now she was really confused._

 _"Uhm, I'm sorry... I don't understand." Hermione replied, her eyes narrowing slightly at the older witch who placed her mug down on the table and began to stand. Minerva sighed heavily and, once she had risen from her seat, took a few steps towards her young lover. Her expression was fixed, stern, and she had expected some difficulty. It was always difficult in these situations. She would know... She'd been here before._

 _"You are brilliant, charming... Very beautiful. A young woman like you will have all sorts of opportunities and, I admit, I am very flattered that your interest has fallen upon me." The Scottish witch explained as she took a seat on the arm of her large leather couch, a bit closer to Hermione, but still leaving some distance. It was hard to watch the realization wash over the young woman, harder still was having to say it all out loud. The little voice in the back of her head, however, kept repeating that it was the right thing. So it must have been. "Although, you and I both know, this affair isn't going to last past this Summer. This isn't a relationship, this is just two people finding joy in a world that had been so torn for a very long time. And I am still your professor, I have duties and obligations to the role, and I have abused my power to allow for this these past months... I've 'indulged' in you and this adolescent crush you have, but this can't happen again. Our respective reputations and our responsibilities... We can't carry on this way. The infatuation must end here. Today."_

 _"My god..." Hermione's voice was just above a whisper. She stared at the ebony haired woman, her eyes searching the face for any sliver of doubt. It was unbelievable. She could feel her body reacting in ways that made her want to actually slap some sense into the woman sitting stiffly a few feet away. Infatuation? Indulgence? Adolescent crush? Did Minerva realize how insulting these things were to say? Just as she was about to make a retort, Minerva sighed again, and lifted her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose._

 _"Miss. Granger, let's be adult about this and just carry on, we were friends once and we can be friendly again. There's no sense causing a fight where a fight isn't warranted..."_

 _"You seem very sure that there is no chance of this being anything more than an 'adolescent' infatuation, Professor..." The title, when spoken aloud, was done so deliberately and with venom. Hermione had every reason to be positively pissed. "What exactly have I ever done for you to believe in... Everything you just said?"_

 _"It's my job to be one hundred percent certain, is it not?" The woman replied flatly, though it pained her to do so. Hermione scoffed and shook her head, she couldn't make eye contact and averted her eyes to the mug on the table. She could feel herself buzzing with adrenaline, she was shaking._

 _No... Hermione had never told Minerva that she was in love with her and, no, Hermione had never told Minerva that she was the first person she allowed to slip inside of her for fear of the woman's rejection should she not be 'practised' in the art of sex and seduction. Two traits the Scottish witch appeared to truly enjoy. But they had only been seeing one and other for roughly about six months. To say 'I love you' before she was absolutely certain would have been disingenuous. But she'd be lying if she said she wasn't deeply in the process of falling in love with the woman currently ending their relationship. Or what she believed was a 'relationship'. Now she was discovering that her lover, her partner, believed the entire time it was nothing more than a frivolous affair. Hermione felt her cheeks growing hotter, she was positively enraged; angry and incredibly hurt. She never thought this was a possibility._

 _Seconds passed, and as they did the dirtier Hermione was beginning to feel. She felt used. Disposable. At the hands of the person, the one person, she trusted above all others. She'd had chances to slip under the sheets before. With Viktor, with Ron... Hell, even Luna showed some 'curiosity', but she had waited, believing when she was ready, and with the right person, she'd know. With Minerva... She knew. Her intuition had led her astray._

 _"Indulge, you say. Like my body has been a drug or I'm a piece of candy for you to sample." These words caused Minerva's resolve to splinter... That wasn't at all what she had meant. Hermione turned and briskly walked to the door and sat down in the chair beside it, grabbing her shoes and trying to pull them on quickly. She felt like an idiot. And for a woman as bright as she was, that was a very harsh pill to swallow._

 _Minerva's heart cracked at the understanding of what meaning Hermione had taken from her explanation and she stood quickly to approach._

 _"Merlin, no... Hermione that's not..."_

 _"Don't. Don't say anything." Hermione's shoes were on, tied, and her wand was raised the minute a shadow came into view. She pointed it at the woman, her lover which she barely recognized in this light. Chocolate brown eyes bore signs of tears, tears which Hermione refused to let fall in front of her former professor. Minerva was unarmed and never expected to be staring down the tip of the wand held by the young woman standing in her doorway. The Scottish woman was shocked and didn't take another step toward Hermione._

 _The pair peered back at one and other. Minerva was speechless. She could see Hermione wanted to say much, although she was somewhat worried she would also be hexed by the scorned woman. Doubt did rise, remorse as well, though it appeared the damage was done... The hurt she felt radiating from her lover, the longer they stared into one and others eyes, the more she felt. And Minerva knew, in that very moment, she might have made a terrible mistake._

 _"I was falling in love with you, I did actually think this was something 'more'...," Hermione stated furiously as she abruptly took a threatening step toward the older witch. Minerva's eyes widened in surprise. "And now I learn that for six months I've been your whore. Some fun on the side. A fucking indulgence. Adolescent crush? You **know** me... I thought you knew me. Nights where talking about everything and nothing, no sex involved, just talking... And holding. Sleeping in your fucking arms, that is **not** an affair to me. That **is** intimacy, that **is** a relationship, a partnership... You have lied to me and... and.. Betrayed me. And I let you because I loved you." Despite her best efforts, she felt the heat of tears slip down the corners of her eyes, rolling over her cheeks. They nearly burned her with their heat combined with her flushed cheeks. "I do **not** want to see you again, you will not speak to me or approach me, I am dead to you. Fuck being friendly. Congratulations, you've convinced me."_

 _Minerva felt her breath hitch in her throat. Her mouth fell open as though she were to try and speak, nothing came out. The fury that was Hermione Granger backed slowly, her wand held outstretched still, and her eyes trained on the woman before her. She reached blindly, finding the door handle with ease, and didn't lower her wand until she was certain she could do so and the woman wouldn't move._

 _"Do not follow me."_

 _Then she was gone and wood slamming against wood echoed through Minerva's private quarters._

 _She had made a terrible mistake._

Eight years.

"Fucking hell." Hermione walked passed her kitchen table, throwing the letter down in its surface, then reached for the bottle of whiskey on top of the fridge. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard, her pack of cigarettes from the drawer beside the cutlery, and an ashtray from the counter. Seating herself, Hermione poured a four finger serving of liquor and lit up, all the while staring down the letter sitting in front of her.

Maybe it was an apology many years too late? Maybe Minerva missed her? Who could say, all she knew was that she didn't want much to do with the woman. Or anyone, really. If someone like Minerva could treat her like shit, betray her in the most personal way... She couldn't imagine what someone less noble, less sincere, could do. Wipe the floor with her, probably.

Hermione's heart broke that day. Any future she had imagined for herself and Minerva crumbled in a pile of false promises and were washed down the drain while she scrubbed the stench of sex and cinnamon off her body. She remembered how raw and blotchy her skin had been after that shower, she scrubbed so hard she thought it would peel right off. No matter how hard though, she still never felt clean. Snaking grey smoke rose from the cherry of her cigarette, she puffed and blew, filling the air with the smell of nicotine and regret. She drained her glass and refilled it, a few gulps, a quick burn, then the buzz and the warmth. Hermione set her cigarette down in the ashtray and took the letter. Perhaps if she quickly tore it open and read it, it'd be like ripping off a band aid. Quick and just a little painful.

So she did just that.

 _Dear Hermione Granger,_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardly is glad to inform you that your hard work and your dedication to your craft has been duly noted by our faculty. As it would stand, our Defence Against the Dark Arts position is open, and we humbly invite you to take this chance, if you'd be willing, to offer your service to our school. We understand your position with the Ministry of Magic is one of research and communication, and we welcome the dual role with great appreciation and respect for your time. Arrangements can and would be made upon your acceptance._

 _Should you accept our offer to take the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching opportunity, please attend our annual end of year staff dinner in preparation for the new year, hosted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardly on July 1st._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Headmistress Minerva McGonagall_

Her eyes scanned the letter repeatedly. She was dumbstruck.

Hermione placed the letter down and grabbed her cigarette for a few last puffs before it burned down to the filter. Leaning back in her chair, she considered what was written, how it was written, and by whom. Purely business. Nothing more. Nothing less. Kind words were but the surface and beneath that Hermione envisioned nothing. Minerva hadn't ever made contact until now, and now the only reason for contact was for a job. For a multitude of reasons, Hermione was quite insulted. However, she was also curious – curious as to why she was chosen from the many.

Though she had many accomplishments under her belt and head spent many a year tracking, subduing, and reporting to the Ministry under somewhat of an Auror position, without the actual title, Hermione was by far lacking in credentials. Everyone had expected her to go into potions, or charms, or possibly transfiguration's. She did nothing of the sort. Rage dictated her actions for a great length of time, throwing herself into dangerous situations over and over, it made her feel alive. Invincible. Until one day, one too many losses knocked her down a peg. She did study. She studied hands on, learning from whom she could, whenever she could, and often while travelling. The Ministry had granted her many a privilege due to her hand in ending the war and her natural ability and knowledge. But this... Being a professor, it was foreign. The idea was foreign.

Working under Minerva would be one hell of a ride, that was for sure, especially if she could keep her wand sheathed. She had a week to consider it. A large part of her wondered about the students... How they would fair in her care... One week. She gave herself that to decide.

_~*MMHG*~_

Sitting behind her desk, the Headmistress was having a hell of time trying to concentrate on the simple task of organizing her calender for the next month. Her thoughts kept floating back to the letter she wrote and sent, and to the woman who'd most likely received it by now. She wished she could have been a fly on the wall watching as her former student read over her words. Partly, she was glad she wasn't granted the ability.

Many years had passed since the day Hermione took her leave of the castle. The young woman hadn't even remained for the graduation ball, leaving the day before, no one the wiser, through the one eyed witch passage to Hogsmead. She remembered it like it was yesterday; the months leading up to that conversation and the end of their... _Relationship._ It was a hard few syllables to say, even if just in her head. She had never forgotten Hermione's parting words. She'd adhered to them, never having sought out the young woman until now. Until it was needed. Still there was pain in having to do it.

Sighing heavily, Minerva placed her quill back in its respective inkwell and leaned forward in her seat, planting her elbows on the wooden desk surface, and covered her face with her hands. Sometimes she wanted to scream. Or cry. She'd not been with another since the young woman had departed. She couldn't bring herself to try.

"You're quite troubled, my dear." A voice floated down from a portrait on the wall. Minerva moved her hands only enough that her eyes could peer above her fingertips at the man peering back down at her. A moment passed. Clearing her throat, Minerva dropped her hands to her lap and leaned back in her seat.

"I am." She replied simply. There was no denying it, as it was written across her face and about her posture. Her countenance displayed the immediate displeasure she felt and she could not avoid doing so.

"Well, unfortunately, there is little you can do to alleviate your discomfort, other than allow it to sit in the back of your mind and not toy with it at present." Albus told her as he folded his hands before him. He felt for her, he truly did, but there was nothing Minerva could do to right past wrongs at the moment, the quicker she realized that, the easier it would be to deal with in the upcoming days.

The ebony haired woman didn't look as though she fully accepted his response. Of course, being twisted by guilt would warp the mind easily.

"By now, Miss. Granger is probably wondering why. I doubt she'll accept the offered position. I figured I might as well try, what harm could it bring, so much time has passed..." Minerva paused, catching herself. Even though time had, indeed, passed, so much of it, she, herself, still hadn't ever quite granted herself the ability to move forward. Not after that day.

She tended to her duties, ran Hogwarts like the well oiled machine that it was, however, and much more personally, her life was never quite the same. Shame had a funny way of making time stand still.

"Even so, you won't know until the first of July. Then, I'm sure, you'll have your answer. Wait until then." The headmistress sighed, nodding to her dear friend. He was right. There was nothing she could do, it was purely a waiting game. So, she would wait. She would hope for the best.

TBC. 


	2. Chapter 2

Hey, Hey!

Thank you for all of the lovely and amazing words of encouragement! Your comments are incredibly appreciated!

I believe I have answered at least one of the questions of why Hermione would return to Hogwarts and take up the position in this chapter, despite already having a rather decent position. (Pride is a thing...) ... Read to find out more. ;)

And as for why she wouldn't have seen the Weasley's very often considering her home is within a 100 mile radius from The Burrow. Well... I'll be honest, I can't really say right now. But it will be revealed as to why in later chapters. I do have answers for these questions! I simply haven't written it yet, heh.

Much love and all the appreciation to ye for taking the time to read my ramblings!

Truly,

+Scissors+

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Complications of Falling

Ch. 2

At the beginning of 'the week of contemplation', as she'd come to call it, Hermione was positive that she would deny the offered position as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Folding over the facts in her mind was key in drawing up that conclusion. Everything she needed, that she wanted, was within arms reach within the four walls of her home and just outside the door; the safety and security of seclusion, a well stocked liquor cabinet, her garden, and her work. It was a pretty sweet deal, if you asked her. No one breathed down her neck in order to produce something noteworthy, no one peered over her shoulder to ensure she remained on task. It was exactly the way it should be.

A day passed. Another followed. Until, on the fourth day, a small seed planted in the back of her mind.

What would it look like if she refused?

A sliver of discomfort due to not knowing began to tug at the pit of her stomach. Would it appear as though she was intimidated? Would it give Minerva the upper hand? Hermione began to feel as though ignoring the invitation, thus the job, would make it seem as though she were a petulant child. Insecurities Hermione had forgotten she even gave a shit about mounted.

Slowly, the woman began to feel she had something to prove; she felt like she needed to make an example out of this strange situation. Moments, memories, that she'd forced out of the way and compartmentalized in little boxes in her brain, out of sight and out of mind, began to unpack and rise to the surface until her day dreaming was mostly comprised of remembering. Though many of them were good, wonderful even, like the feeling of the older witch's hands cupping her face, or that body wrapped tightly around her own, these memories were marred by the events of graduation, and the day that she fled. Stinging like a slap, that thought hit her like a ton of bricks when she least expected it, as she was standing in her yard with a glass of whiskey, gazing over her budding garden.

 _It wasn't hot enough. No matter how much she turned the tap and felt the scorching water cascade over her body, it still didn't burn away the feeling of filth. Hermione grew frustrated while she scrubbed her arms, her chest, her stomach, and legs. Her neck. She tried feverishly and without result, still replaying the conversation she'd just had with... The woman. She couldn't even say the name. She couldn't allow herself to. Tears mixed with the water and circled the drain, eventually they ran dry, leaving her miserable and without comfort._

 _Shutting off the tap, she finally pushed back the curtain and stepped out into the cooler air, steam rising against the mirror and filling the room. She opened the door leading into her private quarters, Head Girl's were afforded such a luxury. On autopilot, Hermione combed her hair and brushed her teeth again. She wrapped the towel around her body and walked out of the bathroom._

 _She found herself standing in the middle of her rooms, moisture dripping down onto the carpet, while her eyes looked over her things, her bed, her desk... She just stood there staring at the stuff. She felt trapped. Tomorrow was supposed to be a triumph, graduation was supposed to be the end of this chapter in her life, she was supposed to move forward. With her. By her side. Hermione didn't care what the world had to say in terms of the bond and relationship she had shared with her former Headmistress. That was the furthest thing from her mind. Maybe she should have told the woman, after all, that she loved her... She loved her with ever fibre of her being, she breathed her, woke for her..._

 _It was far too late now. What Minerva revealed was that the feeling was not mutual. Hermione was just a young woman to pick up and toy with for a while, bring a little joy to the woman's day, Hermione wasn't a 'need'... She was a 'want'. Like a piece of gum or a glass of firehowwhiskey. She felt bile rise in the back of her throat. Two seconds._

 _"Oh fuck..." She blurted to no one, her eyes growing wide._

 _She ran back to the bathroom and stumbled to reach the toilet in time, expelling the contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl. She hadn't eaten, but whatever was in there certainly decided to come up. Coughing and dry heaving, she didn't hear the knock at the door. She didn't hear her name called through it or the turning of the handle. It wasn't until she felt a presence and a hand on her shoulder did she turn her face in shock to see him standing there, looking concerned, and then there were tears again. She'd almost thought she'd run dry._

 _"Hermione... Are you alright?" Harry asked as he quickly removed his coat and threw it out of the bathroom, aiming for the bed, which he missed. She heard it but didn't look away from the man who was crouching down beside her. Without asking, he flushed the toilet, just in case she needed to vomit again._

 _"She doesn't love me." Hermione hiccoughed. Though her eyes were shining with tears, perhaps, she was cracking. She felt herself laugh at the ridiculousness of it all and repeated. "Harry, she doesn't love me." She said through laughter and pain. He peered at her through his glasses, certainly not quite understanding what the hell was going on, other than something had transpired between Hermione and Minerva that had caused this... Situation. Hermione's laughter began to fade into sobs and so she wept, tearing her eyes from him and putting her forehead on her folded arms on the toilet seat._

 _Finally, she had said it out loud._

 _Harry didn't know what to do. But he wasn't going to leave his dearest friend like this. So he moved her, manoeuvring Hermione's arm around his shoulder, ensuring her towel was quite fixed, he drew her up off the floor in his arms. The young man carried her out of the bathroom, minding her legs and head as they passed through the door frame, and laid her down on her bed. She cried hard, she didn't stop, she barely breathed through her weeping, but when he made to move to pick up his jacket off the floor, she reached for him._

 _"Please..." She cried and turned to look at him, her puffy red eyes pleading for him to stay._

 _"Of course." He replied softly._

 _Hermione turned onto her side and reached behind her when she felt a weight on the bed, a full weight, and he gave her his hand. She pulled until his body made contact, his chest against her back, his legs curling with her legs, and Hermione could feel the comfort of his embrace. It wasn't the first time he'd held her, she was sure it wouldn't be the last, they were family after all._

 _After about an hour, once her cries subsided and she could take in a full breath of air, she mumbled her thanks. Harry leaned up on an elbow and gently planted his chin on her shoulder so he could properly see the side of her face. He had to ask, she knew he would, as he watched her stare across at the other side of the room._

 _"What happened?"_

 _Hermione closed her eyes for a moment._

 _"She ended it." Hermione breathed the words that tasted like vinegar. When she opened her eyes, she turned her head to look up at the green eyed man. He peered down at her and she could see he was surprised by this, maybe even a bit by her reaction. He knew everything, she'd told him, hell, he'd even pushed her a little to make her attraction known, believing himself that the women would make a magnificent pair._

 _When his only response was to look back upon her questioningly, she sighed and shifted, turning so that she was on her back. She adjusted her towel and made sure he wasn't getting a free show, not that he'd ever look, but still..._

 _"She thinks it was just some short term affair, two people having fun, she thinks I have some sort of childish crush... Which, yes, we had fun but it was more than just some silly little crush on a teacher. I thought we were going somewhere." Hermione explained a bit further. "I think, she thinks, she's doing me a favour..."_

 _"Did you tell her you loved her?" Harry asked cautiously, unsure of how Hermione would react to his questions, being that she was already in a very raw place. He watched Hermione lift a hand and pinch the bridge of her nose._

 _"I yelled. I just sort of exploded, I told her that my feelings were deepening and that she treated me like a prostitute." Hermione dropped her hand and saw Harry's brows shoot up his forehead._

 _"Wow. That's... Intense." He said as his hand rested on her stomach, over her naval, a respectful distance from her chest and pelvic line. Hermione covered his hand with her own and peered up at him. She had made up her mind. But she did need his help._

 _"Harry, I'm not going to fight her... This is the second time she's tried this with me. The first time... I convinced her otherwise, but this time she was serious. And I'm serious. I cannot stay here, I need to leave..." Hermione stated as she wiped a few stray tears away. Harry didn't argue, he didn't question, but he did furrow his brow._

 _"Graduation is tomorrow..." He said, not really knowing her meaning._

 _"I know," She replied softly, rubbing the hand her own laid upon. "But I'm not going to be there. I can't face her, I can't be there... You could send me the diploma or whatever the fuck it is... I don't really care. I owled Kingsley days ago and I can start work as soon as I give the go ahead... I was going to just take a break and spend it with her for a bit but there's not really any point to doing that now."_

 _"Okay, I understand." Harry told her, somewhat saddened that she wouldn't be there for their big day... But understanding why and how hard it would be. Besides him only Ginny knew. They were the only two Hermione trusted with the information of the more intimate relationship Hermione and Minerva shared. It would have been very hard to sit there, pretend to be joyful, when inside he knew her heart must have been positively shattered._

 _"There's just one more thing." Hermione stated with some apprehension. She knew it was a lot to ask but she figured she may as well see..._

 _"Of course, what?"_

 _"Can I borrow his motorbike?" She asked quietly. Harry looked at her quizzically. At first he didn't quite understand. 'Motorbike?' He thought... Until the realization dawned._

 _"Oh, Sirius's bike? Yeah... You can have it actually, I can't quite seem to look at it still." Harry replied with a small, half smile. He watched relief wash over Hermione's features. She curled towards him and put her arms around what parts of him she could, feeling his own wind around her smaller frame._

 _"I won't have, I'll just borrow... Thank you."_

 _"Anytime, Hermione..."_

Hermione hadn't moved a muscle for quite a few minutes as she folded over that memory and how Harry had been there in her time of need. Hell, he was the one who helped her pack and sneak out through the one-eyed witch passage to Hogsmeade. Without him, she would have been stuck. He never did ask for the motorbike back. So, she figured, if she were to go to Hogwart's, she would have to bring it along, keep it with Hagrid. It only made sense since he had the space for the thing.

It was unfortunate that after that day, once she had made it Grimmuald Place, she was never truly the same girl again. A little spark of hate lit in the depth of her chest and her skin grew cold. Anger that she finally let herself feel besides the pain and the heartbreak, which she felt were useless to begin with, she began to let consume her. She welcomed the change with open arms. It was how she'd ensure that never again would she allow anyone or anything to have such a grip on her heart.

It worked exceptionally well.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione set her jaw and straightened her posture. She could still do both. Work for the Ministry and teach. If only to prove Minerva hadn't won and that the woman no longer held the hold she had so many years previous. Hermione was stronger than that, better than to let the woman scare her into isolation. She lifted her glass to her lips and emptied the remainder of the whiskey, then she turned back towards the house to prepare her things for the travel.

~*MMHG*~

Hermione wasn't the only one who was looking back over time and drudging up old memories of how things once were. Minerva hadn't been able to tear her mind away from the fact that the very next day she'd see for certain if the brunette woman was ready to assume the responsibility of being part of the faculty. Butterflies that masqueraded as hornets caused her stomach to flip and lurch unexpectedly. It wasn't a comfortable feeling whatsoever. All she really wanted to do, whether it was good or bad, was to know. Fast forward through the day and through the afternoon until the evening hours, prepare herself, then see if Hermione appeared in the Great Hall for dinner.

Alas, time and life didn't work that way. She was left having to wait and see despite feeling somewhat green around the gills about it.

Correspondence with her former student, Harry Potter, over the past few years, had always been pleasant and easy. They mostly talked about work and the kids, his children, but every once in a while she would ask about Ron and Hermione. Harry frequently had many a thing to respond with in terms of the Weasley family, however, the elusive Miss. Granger was always 'fine', 'very busy', or he simply didn't know. It never ceased to amaze her how the young woman went to such great lengths to be unknown. Minerva had always found her enigmatic to begin with; she was brilliant, clever, and so many things that made Minerva wonder how someone could be all of these and more wrapped up in one person.

Laying in bed that afternoon, the Scottish woman gazed at the ceiling. Sleep had evaded her the previous days. Mild anxiety kept her awake and alert, should there have been any message, but Hermione had remained silent and now exhaustion slowed Minerva's mind and muscles. Unfortunately, even in her sleep, she wasn't fully capable of thwarting the unwanted nostalgia which came in the form of a dream.

 _"For the rest of the class I expect you to continue your essays, quietly." Professor McGonagall instructed her seventh years while taking a seat behind her desk. She was met by the sounds of parchments unfurling, quills and inkwells being sprung into action, and not another word was spoken. The elder witch returned to her grading her fifth year's assignments on Animagi, which always proved to be entertaining. Often she wondered how a number of students even held the intellectual capability of tying their shoes in the morning, although this was never voiced._

 _It was a gift, after all, that they even had a school to practise at to begin with, considering the war had only ended some months ago._

 _As the thought struck her, Minerva raised her line of sight to the rows of students seated before her, the majority, of which, were busying themselves with the task at hand; their papers. Harry, as usual, seated beside Ron who appeared to be having some trouble with putting his thoughts to paper, leaning over every once in a while to scan his friends work before continuing on. Minerva shook her head minutely. Some things never changed._

 _Then there was her._

 _Hermione was the only one without parchment or quill in hand. She sat with her text book propped up, her eyes scouring the pages, obviously relaxed, which alerted Minerva that she was already finished. A small spark of pride lit within the Scottish woman. With Hermione, she'd never have to worry about failing as a teacher, as a mentor, the young woman soaked everything in without question or argument, she was an exemplary student..._

 _She was a student._

 _Minerva felt her blood run cold._

 _She peered at Hermione, without a single pair of eyes raising to notice the lingering glance upon the brunette, and the realization truly dawned that this young woman, whom she'd been seeing quite privately, in many a compromising position, was not only a war veteran and an incredibly talented witch, but also, and more importantly, her pupil. For some reason, as the months had drawn on and their connection deepened, the reality had never actually hit home. She had been floating around in a dream space, not thinking, only feeling, and as she looked upon Hermione now, in that moment, the attraction felt increasingly inappropriate. The age gap, the responsibility, their reputations... If word was ever let slip, if they were to be discovered, it could have very well been catastrophic._

 _Since the beginning of the year, many of her students, most that had been involved in the fight against Voldemort and his league of followers, had grown to feel much more like colleagues. She was training them far more than teaching. However, this was no longer the case. They were still students, people who she was entrusted with, children of friends..._

 _Minerva quickly returned her attention to her work. She glanced briefly at the small, decorative clock on the corner of her desk. Ten more minutes._

 _"Miss. Granger..." She called without looking up from her parchment, but knew that Hermione would lift her eyes upon being addressed. "My office after class, please." Always the professional, Minerva's voice was crisp, clear, and authoritative._

 _"Yes, professor." She heard Hermione reply, although she didn't look up to acknowledge the answer. Instead, she continued to look over the parchment stretching the length of the desk, half reading it over, while the other half of her mind was consumed by the panic she was well versed in concealing._

 _They had to end it... What they were doing wasn't right. She had to be the voice of reason._

 _The final bell rang and the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students rose from their seats, shoving books and parchments into bags, while the chatter began to bubble forth from their lips. The room filled with the noise of chairs being pushed back into place and their voices reverberating off of the stone walls confining them. Minerva waited until the majority of the students had filed out of the classroom before she stood from her desk, noting Hermione standing in waiting, her book bag slung over a shoulder. She looked only mildly curious._

 _Wordlessly, Minerva motioned for the young woman to follow and led them to the large door on the side of the room, opening it for Hermione to pass through before her, then she tucked in behind and closed it._

 _"You look like something's troubling you..." She heard Hermione say while the latch caught and Minerva locked the door shut. The elder witch withdrew her wand and cast a quick silencing charm to ensure their privacy, continuing to face the door for some moments. Finally, her features bore signs of her concern. How to say what she needed to say, how to explain... She was the professor here, they weren't some young couple hiding for a quickie in dark corners of the school..._

 _"Miss. Granger," Minerva addressed the young woman as she turned around. "We need to talk." Her gaze landed on the witch who stood within the confines of the office, leaning against the desk with her arms folded casually across her chest. Hermione's brows were knitted and her lips began to form a faint frown. The green eyed woman could barely make eye contact. She felt her mouth begin to go dry._

 _"Are you alright, Minerva?" The question posed made her sigh heavily as she leaned against the closed door, one hand on the handle while the other rested at her side. Flashes of the past four months raced through her mind... The innocent hand holding, the times spent in conversation, the searing touch, lips on her collarbone, legs entwined... No, she was not alright. She peered down at the stone at her feet for a minute which garnered a soft hum from the young woman standing before her, a sound of further questioning..._

 _"This is wrong. We shouldn't have... I should have said no..." Even as the words spilled over her lips, spoken with as much sincerity as she could muster, Minerva couldn't meet Hermione's gaze. Not if by doing so it would break her resolve. "You are my..." She was interrupted._

 _"I am perfectly capable of discerning for myself what is right and what is wrong for me." Hermione stated, cutting off any further opinion her lover might have had. "And, if I may, I am also perfectly of age to do so..." If Minerva thought this was going to be easy or simple, she obviously had thought wrong. Hermione's tone was one of equal authority and strength of conviction. She wasn't having it. Minerva closed her eyes and dropped her chin til it nearly hit her chest. Of all the women she had to grow close to... It had to be the one who held as many cards as she._

 _"Regardless, I am your professor..." She didn't hear the young woman creep forward, Hermione didn't make a sound, it wasn't until she felt hands part her robes and seek the fabric beneath, the button up hugging her midsection, that her eyes fluttered open and she saw the woman standing dangerously close. Their eyes met. "Hermione, please..." Minerva's pleading was cut short by the young woman who leaned forward, her body pressing against the elder woman's, until the ebony haired witch was caught between the brunette and the door. Minerva felt lips press against the skin beneath her ear and the full weight of the other woman's breasts against her own. That one touch was enough to elicit a strangled moan that the older woman tried mightily to bite back._

 _"I am not convinced." She felt hot breath against her ear as what Hermione had quietly told her filtered in through her mind. "Tell me again how wrong this is... Look me in the eye, tell me the truth, that this isn't right." The young woman leaned her head back enough to gaze into emerald eyes, her body still anchoring the ebony haired witch against the mahogany, waiting for the reply that she was aiming for. Minerva breathed deeply. The electricity she felt surging through her body, the scent of Hermione's shampoo, mixed with the look of utter want, it could have possibly been need, that lit the depths of the young witch's eyes... She'd lost before she even began._

 _"I can't..."_

Minerva woke, startled, her eyes searching until she realized she was alone. Through the window the sky was dark and the room was only illuminated by the moonlight filtering in. She must have slept for longer than she had anticipated. Groaning, she allowed her head to fall back upon the pillow. The vividness of the dream, the way her hair smelled... It lingered for longer than she would have preferred.

If things had only turned out differently...

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Consequences of Falling

Ch. 3

Muscles and limbs worked of their own accord to collect and store the remnants of a life led into the few suitcases and trunk Hermione had acquired over the years. Autopilot dictated her lax form, she disassociated, with the feeling almost as though peering down from the ether upon herself as books, personal articles, and clothing were carefully managed. It would be a surprise to no one that, despite the obvious need to prove that she was more than capable to undertake any arduous task handed her way, she wasn't entirely leaping at the chance to return to those stone walls. What appealed to her most in this unlikely set of circumstances, grudgingly enough, was the opportunity to once again overcome what had been one of the most altering experiences she had faced since the fall of the dark lord; absolute turmoil of the soul.

Things were different now.

Treading the lawn beneath an unforgiving sun, Hermione could feel the warmth of rays penetrate the fabric of her black waistcoat, permeating through the slate coloured cotton button up beneath - the heat making the woman all too aware of the body she inhabited. In a satchel gripped by hand, her belongings, minimized by simple charms, begged to be placed carefully into the confines of the leather saddlebag hanging off the back rim of her motorcycle. It had been too long since proper attention had been paid to that machine. Too long since she felt the rumble of an engine spring to life beneath her and carry her away. This was not exactly what she had planned, however, once her mind had been settled, there was no going back.

The woman flung wide the doors of her shed and entered in to roll back the canvass covering that protected the bike from the elements, shielding from any dust or drops of rain should they manage to find their way through cracks in the roof. As eyes bore witness to the reveal of the bike, her silent companion, a peculiar softness lightened that, typically, hardened gaze. Unacknowledged, unaware of how deep her appreciation truly ran, the witch allowed her fingertips to trace along the leather seat.

"One more journey, friend." Murmured the woman as she turned her attention to the buckle of the saddlebag and flipped open the flap, lowering her belongings into the pocket with caution. Concealed, items buckled in, she turned her attention to grabbing the handle grips and kicked back the standing leg, pushing and guiding the machine forward onto the grass.

Hermione was never late. That was a matter that had always been important. She hadn't the patience to wait nor did she inflict that upon the unsuspecting. Although, in this case, she had no problem with lowering the kickstand and settling to lean on the motorcycle in her backyard to light a cigarette and ensure the backdoor was locked with a flick of her wand. This was _her_ home. _Her_ space. Even though she knew that time would eventually bring her the opportunity to return, she couldn't be certain when that would be next. A day, a week, a month... She couldn't say. So she took that moment and indulged in it, smoking her cigarette, and sweeping her gaze along the gardens she tended to with passion, because before terribly long she knew the time would come to mount the machine and take her leave.

It was time to go.

.*`HGMM`*.

"Everything is ready for the party, Minerva." Filius beamed as he crossed paths with the elder green eyed witch. Though the pre-emptive measures were highly appreciated, the nerves rattling the Headmistress were overwhelming and abundant.

"Thank you." She responded faintly, with no intention of halting steps until she was settled behind her desk to wait out the next hour or so in solitude before joining the rest of her colleagues in the Great Hall for, what was supposed to be, the end of year celebration. The short man turned on that spot and eyed the woman in passing, pausing, before calling out.

"These are happy times, my friend... Why do you seem less than enthused?" Minerva caught herself in stride, that moment before she knew a snappy retort was mere moments from being tasted on her lips. She did slow, turning halfway to aim sights upon the inquiring fellow, cooling her temper before the mixture of unsettled thought caused her to make some unnecessary scene.

"Everything is as it should be, I'm perfectly pleased with that," She answered shortly and with the customary air of authority befitting a woman of her rank. "I just have a few articles to contend with before the festivities, otherwise all is fine." Her colleague knew when to press and when to relent, the many masks of the woman were defined over time and measurable. She was certain. So it came as no real surprise that when she vaguely, silently, nodded her thanks and turned to continue in the direction of her office that no move was made to interrupt her departure once again.

Maintaining a sense of decorum, Minerva kept her neutral look about features well intact. It wasn't until the soles of her shoes met the last few steps leading to that large, thick door did she growl her frustrations audibly while forcing to shut it behind with enough force to splinter. Regardless of the pairs of curious eyes aimed down from their portraits, she sunk into the chair behind her desk and allowed herself that moment to pull herself together, in whatever form that may have taken. No letter, no note, had been received since the one she had penned and sent to the witch who had readily taken up residence in her mind since then. Hermione had always been there, lingering somewhere beyond the forefront, but now she stood dead centre and Minerva couldn't quite shake the feeling of

She would be falsifying information if she said that she was not wholly bothered by the lack of correspondence. It meant more than just the fact she hadn't the slightest whether she would then be forced to go and scout an alternative. Limbo was not a place she was meant to tread, to remain, because, as anyone would easily surmise, she abhorred not knowing. Defeated, the ebony haired witch laid her palms on the surface of her desk and tilted her head back, eyes closing, as she willed to take in steadying breathes to clear the concern from within the reaches of her mind.

"A bit _dramatic_ , don't you think?" A silky voice floated down from its framed portrait to be met with a sour twist of lips, her head slowly turning to view the pale features of the man addressing her with such a tone. "Even for you..."

"Don't test me, Severus... I'm _not_ in the mood." Minerva cautioned with an edge that would undoubtedly cause most to stop in their tracks, turn, and bolt in the opposite direction. This particular man, however, remained unfazed. His piercing black eyes scanned her from above with scrutiny before lips parted to further antagonize.

"You seem to be under the delusion that Miss. Granger is in some position to pay you a thought, if she returns I can guarantee it'll have far less to do with you and more the work provided here." Though Minerva knew that Severus could be, most likely was, entirely correct in his assumptions, it wasn't the time nor the place to have any sort of discussion ranging those topics. That was what lit a fire in her chest and caused her to nearly leap from her seat to face him.

"How _dare_ you!" The Headmistress thundered, stirring more than a few gasps from those dwelling within other frames while Snape remained quite poised. "You do not have to explain to me my situation here, I'm well aware of it!"

"Then compose yourself and _deal_ with it," He shot back without skipping a beat, his drawl dragging out that one emphasized word in that signature clenched teeth Snape way that only illuminated the vehemence accompanied by voice. "Do your job."

As highly unappreciated as it was to be chastised by the man glaring down upon her, she couldn't deny that he had a point. The day was the breaking point, the undressing of scars, whether the brunette appeared or not. Answering those few questions only came with time and Minerva still had her duty to attend to at present by rallying her peers and settling into the promise of a new term to start in two months time. There was no room for emotional excursions when responsibility mounted upon shoulders. She would grudgingly thank him later. Pleased with the turn about features, a more collected look adorning those of the ebony haired woman, Severus leaned back in his frame and folded his arms, tension seeping from his own.

The point had been made.

The time was quickly approaching when around that circular table the faculty and staff would convene, dine, and toast the end of those months spent moulding the minds of their young pupils. A gift of good conversation and stories to be told, a bonding experience - for though not all members of staff saw eye to eye, they maintained, however, a diplomatic semblance of respect and understanding.

That was the point of it all, really. Beyond celebration, it was a meeting of minds. One much needed hurrah at the end of the finish line.

.*`HGMM`*.

Tires touched down upon grass and the brunette found herself gritting her teeth. It had been some time since she'd last descended from flight and it showed. It wasn't so nasty a meeting between earth and rubber that would cause harm to the vehicle, although it was still far from smooth in comparison to the grace she'd managed to adopt in years since passed. The loud growl of the engine surged as acceleration piqued, and the woman found herself rolling at a decent clip across school grounds towards one small building in the distance: Hagrid's hut. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach at the sight of that familiar cottage, the garden just visible alongside, and the smoke billowing from the chimney. If she were capable of justifying it, guilt would have welled. She hadn't seen the kind eyed and bearded man in what had to have been four or five years, the only communication being that of sparse letters sent.

The commotion of the motorcycle must have caused him some alarm, since the door flung wide and the massive man stepped out when she slowed to approach. A shocked surprise lit up his rosy face, at least from what she could see, as she drew near enough to park her bike and turn the ignition, kicking out the stand with the heel of her boot.

" 'Ermione! Look at ye!" He bellowed in greeting as she lifted off the leather seat and rounded its back wheel to approach the man.

"Hagrid, it's good to see you, old friend." The woman mustered up what was aimed to be a genuine smile for the man, grasping for some warmth, yet, she knew it was tight and minutely forced. The man didn't seem to care. He lumbered forward with open arms and she tried mightily not to express through the language of her body how little she wanted the touch. Instead, she allowed it and returned it, as a friend would do, before the man pushed lightly against her shoulders to hold her at arms length, taking in the sight.

"Yer grown up," Hagrid exclaimed as he combed over the look of the woman, from the long curling locks to the two faint scarred lines creeping down her face. "Yer lookin' good, 'Ermione." The bearded man continued on with a smile though Hermione knew that this was a half truth. She could tell by the way the man had looked down and truly witnessed her that he was shocked by the severity of her features. The baby fat no longer plumped her cheeks, though she was still a bit curvy, she was now slender, a bit taller, and muscles filled out beneath skin. He could feel beneath his palms rounded shoulders, strength, much unlike those he had squeezed before. Despite knowing that he was being kind, she didn't make any attempt to argue for sincerity, she just tried her best to upkeep the smile, force a lightness, and move on.

"Thank you, Hagrid," Hermione gave his wrists a squeeze in tandem, a vaguely affectionate gesture, and then she was released. "I've been invited here to teach, I'm not sure if you're aware, although I do believe we're late for dinner." Like a lightbulb going off above his head, Hagrid realized the time and began to usher his small friend toward the castle, animated in his panic and joy, a strange concoction of verbal blubbering, that the woman found herself unable to distract herself from. She had missed him. She'd missed the way the half giant, gentle as could be, always made her feel somewhat at home.

.*`HGMM`*.

Chattering and laughter filled that small area. Staff members lit with debate and conversation discussed topics ranging from their year to current projects, academic journals, and activities. It was exactly as it should be, Minerva thought. To one side Slughorn was attempting to capture Filch in a 'riveting' talk about cleanliness potions whilst on the other Madame Pomphrey and Sprout were rather engaged in the most improved hybrid ingredients for healing salves and ointments; it was perfect. Exactly what any one would have hoped for. Minerva took it in and found herself smiling as she witnessed the goings on, that was until she, and a few others, noticed a pair of figures strolling beneath the archway and into the Great Hall.

Hagrid accompanied by another figure, slim and dressed impeccably, eventually caught the attention of those standing about, their gazes finding the newest face and then turning to quietly murmur among themselves.

There she was... Nearly a decade later. The passing years had clearly taken some effect. For all the preparation the green eyed woman had made, nothing could have prepared her for the sight of the younger witch - the way she strode with such conviction, the thinner, more angular features she adorned, the, nearly, feral gleam in those chocolate brown eyes. All softness was eclipsed by growth and maturity. Minerva could hardly recognize...

.-*HGMM*-.

The soles of her black leather boots sounded heavily over stone in addition to the louder, far more imposing, thumps of Hagrid. Fallen silent, the pair ventured into the dining hall and, much to Hermione's surprise, her presence alongside the large man seemed to cause a bit of a stir. Unintentionally, her gaze narrowed and her lips formed a slightly crooked line, still attempting at a smile, although this presented only as a slightly twisted half-smile, in truth. Her defense rose and bound her to to a certain presence. She was not to be toiled. Eyes locked upon her own and she could nearly feel the heavy thump of a heartbeat as the distance closed between the pair and the table.

"Good, Merlin! The amazing Granger has returned!" A voice filtered in through her ear, causing her gaze to snap toward the one addressing her as such. Rolanda was the first to venture forth and, again to her surprise, was smiling and outstretching a hand for Hermione to take. The grey haired woman seemed to adorn that cheeky way about her and Hermione allowed herself to accomidate it.

"Seems to be." Hermione returned pointedly as she reached to take the hand to shake and greet, an act that set off the others to respond in kind.

She made her rounds, pausing to exchange pleasantries, although it was draining and not what she had become accustomed to. All the while she felt eyes burning into the side of her face, those belonging to one woman in particular, who she was dead set not to avoid or dismiss. With only one person left to address, her head of house and once close friend, the witch turned her sights upon the ebony haired woman and strolled towards, her angular features well trained.

"Professor." Hermione stifled the urge to inject venom into her tone. A flash of something unreadable played behind emerald eyes and the older witch extended her hand.

"Professor..." The headmistress greeted in turn, evenly, although her expression wasn't forthcoming, nor was her tone. Hermione didn't hesitate to take that hand and squeeze, firm, before withdrawing from the touch and shifting to take her place among the others. The strange interaction was entirely devoid of warmth or familiarity, not that anyone besides Hooch noticed. Inwardly, the golden eyed woman hummed, turning to intercept Hermione before she passed.

"This seat isn't taken." She stated with a gesture, an invitation that caught the younger woman slightly off guard before she caught herself. Eyeing the woman with just an ounce of curiosity, muddled with scrutiny, Hermione stepped toward the intended chair.

"Then I should take it, I wager." Drawled Hermione with a slight lift of the brow. _Interesting_...

"That'd be wise."

Pursing her lips, thwarting some furthering of sarcasm, Hermione stepped in line and heard the clinking of cutlery against crystal. Voices petered off and eyes travelled to bare witness to the Headmistress who aimed to catch attention to those in attendance.

"To our seats, I hope we all enjoy our dinner and pay our thanks to those who have prepared it."

And so it begun; the meal, the knowing, and the facade. Hermione, though some years older, found herself tucking in and focusing her attention elsewhere, anywhere, than the woman, much to the surprise to anyone who was aware that she had once been the golden child, the protège... Attention wasn't paid to the Headmistress and none but Rolanda and Poppy paid mind to her through out dinner, as both sat on either side.

Still, the pair sensed one and other, hyper aware of the others presence, but now was not the time nor the place.

They simply carried on as they would have, as they should have, nothing more.

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Consequences of Falling

Ch. 4

 _"Can't you just drop it, I have it under control" Hermione fumed as she placed her empty glass down on the counter with a bit more force than was necessary. Gaze bore into gaze, Harry's as unrelenting as her own, but he pressed as he often did, especially now that he could do nothing but appraise the newly acquired blemish the woman was sporting._

 _"You're being reckless, Hermione... You should have made an inquiry for back up before just waltzing through the front door and firing off spells. You could have been killed." Solemnly, he spoke with a seriousness that wasn't often utilized in her presence. Turning in his chair, Harry faced her, square on to where she stood leaning against her kitchen counter. He watched her scoff and shake her head, hand reaching for the neck of the bottle of whiskey. "Had enough, don't you think?" She tossed him a piercing glance, the sort as though to say 'I'll know when I've had enough, thanks'._

 _"If, by chance, I had called for assistance, it might have been a day or so before someone would have been made aware and sent," She told him plainly, pointedly, as she poured herself a decent serving of liquor and replaced the half drunk bottle back down, taking up her glass then instead. "The three would have moved on, easily could have, in that space of time and I wasn't going to take that chance. Two families had already been terrorized, I wasn't about to allow a third."_

 _Tracking and taking down, the name of the game was simple; there were still those in that three years time that didn't adhere to the new Ministry, who weren't in the good graces of proper wizarding society, and who did still maintain their close ties to the blood purist regime of Tom Riddle and his followers. They were dangerous. Convinced of a third coming of their Dark Lord, they would easily concoct any reason, do anything, to ensure a future everyone else knew wasn't any longer a possibility. At first chance, Hermione agreed and aligned herself with the task force to locate, detain, and lock up those wrong doers before an uprising could be mounted on the Ministry of Magic. It almost felt like her calling. All the while, tending to research in regards to those new forms of deadly spells, curses, charms, and hexes those men and women had managed to create to further their cause. Usually by way of torture to gain followers by use of fear and threat. She broke them, learned them, testing many on herself to find a way to alter and counter them. Being brilliant had its moments._

 _"I know your intentions were noble," Harry finally stated after a moment, rising from his preferred seat at her kitchen table to tread closer and take up the space at his friend and colleagues side. She found herself almost uncomfortable by the nearness, its properties of comfort and reassurance nothing short of unusual in recent days. "But you have to understand... I know the whole story here, more than most, and I can't help but feel that you're trying to get yourself into a position that will, undoubtedly, get you killed. Does she really deserve that?"_

 _Hermione felt herself grow cold. Unknown by her was the frequency of owls sent between her once most beloved professor and the man standing beside her. She couldn't have known that any discussion had been formed surrounding the most curious circumstances that forced her to leave Hogwarts the day before graduation. All she knew was, at that moment, he was entering into territory that neither she or him had any business in venturing into at that time. She would have rather flung herself into a building crawling with undesirables and let them tear her to shreds, far worse than what had already been inflicted upon her face._

 _"I'm going to say this once, only once, and you had better take it to heart, Harry Potter," Her tone was steely and the gaze she pinned him with was just the same, she read his features and knew he was waiting, listening, and present. "I value my life and my work, both having the structure to make me want to continue, this?" Pausing shortly to vaguely gesture with the hand holding the drink to the side of her face, where two deep and reddened lines cut through brow, eyelid, to jaw in a most sinister of markings. "This was an accident. And I've learned from it, it won't happen again."_

 _"I hope not." He sighed, reaching for her drink and taking it from her, an act that almost elicited a deep growl of displeasure, had she not then witnessed him taking a decent pull of the swirling amber liquid before returning it to her grasp. His face twisted briefly. "I don't know how you drink that as often as you do." Muttered the fellow as he reached to give her arm a squeeze._

 _"Practice makes perfect." Grumbled the witch whilst peering down into the half emptied contents of her glass, the corners of her lips somewhat twisted in a miserable little smile. 'Right' she heard the man mumble quietly as he ventured to grab his coat off the back of the chair he'd been sitting in and his wand off the table._

 _"Alright, oh... One more thing," He half turned toward her on his way out the back door, catching her eye with a more official looking glance. "Might I remind you that we're supposed to be detaining these people... Kingsley wanted me to pass on the message that next time, can you at least try to keep one alive?" His brows raised and Hermione couldn't help but to give an airy little chuckle, a rarity in itself those days. If the circumstances were different, it surely would have been music to his ears._

 _"I'll try my best, can't make any promises."_

 _"Just try."_

 _And, with that, her friend was gone. Probably to go home to his wife to spend the rest of the night in the throes of marital bliss before an early morning, and leaving Hermione to stand there, nursing her drink, one of many, before the liquor finally knocked her into a deepened slumber curled up on the couch in her living room, just to wake and begin again - routine was key._

.-*HGMM*-.

This was a far cry from what Hermione had become accustomed to. People, many people... Too many. She had to exercise control and school her expression into something less than positively miserable while listening and communicating between two witches who, for reasons beyond her grasp, were quite content to laugh and tease; banter. She could feel each pass of Minerva's gaze from across that large, circular table and this, much to her pleasure, fuelled the fire in the pit of her stomach more to appear aloof, somewhat amiable, though the tight smile she wore did elude to an ounce of discomfort. No one called up for explanation.

"So, Miss. Gran..."

"Hermione, please. I haven't been called _Miss. Granger_ in nearly a decade." Poppy seemed quite fine with this and eyed her with some understanding and the warmth of a smile, though Hermione's attention was somewhat split between the gesture and taking a drink of her coffee.

"Hermione," The Medi-Witch began once again, adopting the preferred with a kinder tone. "Might I ask, the last time I saw you... And, please forgive me if I'm overstepping, but the scar you've adopted..." The brunettes attention was piqued. The line of questioning was unexpected, not wholly unwanted l or fought against inwardly, but a surprise, nonetheless. And since she made no obvious move to deflect the questioning, the elder witch continued on as Rolonda somewhat turned in her seat to properly dial in, her own curiosity garnering interest. "As Pomona and myself were discussing earlier, there are so many more options nowadays to completely erase scar tissue, almost like they've never happened to begin with, have you thought of it? Is it of interest?"

Rolanda's gaze bounced from her friend to the young woman between, a brow arched. The brunette seemed to pause, placing her drink down upon the surface it once inhabited. As it was, Hermione rarely considered it. She hardly noticed, nowadays, especially not when she rarely checked the mirror and had no one to comment. But if she really searched within herself, she did have to say... She had grown rather fond of her scars and her blemishes. They offered character. Yes, they added a certain stern quality, which was never an argued issue, but... This was earned. She earned her marks, they were a map to self discovery written plainly upon her skin, not to be forgotten.

"This may come as some surprise, Poppy," Eventually, the younger witch answered, a certain brand of smoothness adorning her tone. "But, no... Not that I'm certain many would consider it for a multitude of reasons, some beyond pure aesthetics, but I've become rather attached to it."

"Besides, it may add a certain element of terror in the students," The flying instructor stated cheekily, her golden eyes alight with some amusement. "Frighten the children into paying attention." Poppy eyed her friend with a look most chastising, garnering a quiet snicker from the grey haired woman. Hermione couldn't help but to permit a true smirk to curl the corner of her mouth, the truest in a great period of time, and in addition she did laugh, the sound rich and clear, a surprise to herself, still, she let it settle within.

Across the way, listening intently, Minerva tore her interests between Filius and the conversation her new professor was embarking. She was intrigued. The difference between what she had come to know and who was seated those chairs down was staggering, to say the least. Beyond the physical presence, there was a new air about the brunette witch that was alarming and unforeseen. No one seemed to notice how the women were avoidant of one and other, most likely assuming professionalism, however, she did make the assumption that Rolonda was all to privy too it. Being that the woman did have knowledge, the majority, as reference. How could she possibly forget...

 _Eight years prior..._

 _"Don't follow me."_

 _Minerva stood, rigid, watching her lover exit with such an impossibly loud slamming of the door. She couldn't manage to lift her feet from the spot, rooted there, as though the woman had immobilized with a flick of her wand before making that hasty retreat. Her mind was consumed by what personal truths Hermione had gifted her with those moments before, her rage and anguish displayed throughout the reveal of what her honest feelings had been. Minerva never knew how deep those waters ran, never delved within, just made her up her own mind on the matter without ever considering that, perhaps... She may have been wrong. This had not been the anticipated course of conversation._

 _Five minutes... Six minutes._

 _With the passing of seconds Minerva felt the anxiety begin to shake her very foundations. What had she done? Legs sprung to life and the woman flew into her bedroom, tearing off her robe and nightgown with frantic hands before pulling pressed clothes from hangers in her wardrobe, dressing quickly. She couldn't allow Hermione to leave knowing the younger woman had drawn conclusions that were far from the most sincere truths of the matter; Hermione had not been, never would be, her whore. The thought that the young woman believed that to be the case was sickening and ache inducing. Minerva's heart hardly allowed for that sort of trivial feeling or desire, not when she knew, at least on her part, that her affection toward the brilliant woman was as earnest as what was returned. She simply had no reason to hope beyond hope and believe in that form of reciprocating; Minerva did love the woman. And, as she had discovered, this was returned._

 _Now that all the pieces of the puzzle were fitted and the bigger picture had been seen, amends had to be made. Reparations for the damage cause by blindness or unwillingness to conclude that maybe, just maybe, there had been a future where one seemed impossible before. She acted on instinct and heart, her head utterly lost in the mix, for if she were thinking clearly she may have just let it lie._

 _Agile fingers gripped the door handle and wrenched it open, her feet willing her to run. This would not come to pass as to whose arms would she find her form thwarted by? Rolanda Hooch._

 _Passing the corridor on her own way down to the Great Hall for a cup of coffee with Poppy, the golden eyed woman found herself utterly transfixed on the sight of a certain curly headed witch retreating and running from that door, a hand covering her mouth the stifle the sobs threatening to grow more audible. Shocked by this discovery, the woman lingered there, uncertain. Something didn't sit quite right with this. She waited a few minutes before her step diverted and she drew down the hall, fully readied to knock on Minerva's door, however, raised hand was met by the pulling open and her friend, unsuspecting, flying into the front of the instructor on the other side. The flash of emotion witnessed was enough for Hooch to deduce the cause, and the grey haired woman forced Minerva backward into her private quarters, quickly forcing the door closed from behind._

 _"What in Merlin's name, Minerva..." She hissed, concerned. Shock wrote itself upon the features opposite her own before snapping back to those prior fitted illuminations of pained worry._

 _"Out of my way!" The Scottish witch made to force her way passed but Hooch, who was more than a little strong due to training and a good exercise regime, caught her once again. "MOVE!" The woman cried furiously as the strength of arms circled her, holding her, weren't willing to allow._

 _"Minerva, think of what you are doing..." Now there was no denying what it was she witnessed. To say she was entirely surprised would have been a great deceit. The women had a way about them, a closeness and a bond, she was sure not many, if any, had noticed but she knew this woman. Time had granted her this knowledge. It was beyond the norm of a typical doting teacher and teacher's pet... She was certain._

 _The woman felt her friend shake in her hold, fingers winding into the fabric of the back of her robes, and heard the telling sound of a staggered inhale before the sob rose in the back of her throat. The legs gave and Rolanda lowered them to the floor, unable to carry the weight alone, as the ebony haired woman's cries muffled against her shoulder._

 _"I've made a terrible mistake..." The woman wept, the tightness of her throat forcing words to be ripped with wavering volume. Rolanda hushed her friend, rocking the figure, and maintained her hold without second thought._

 _"More harm than good will come if you go to her now... You know that." She'd seen it. Hermione wasn't to be reached. The young woman wasn't the sort to lose composure but she was absolutely lost within whatever pain she'd succumbed to. To try and reason with that pain, it would have ended horribly. Minerva, to a degree, also knew this which made her immediate feeling all the more difficult._

 _"I do... I do love her._ "

The young woman that had vacated those rooms that day was no longer the young woman Minerva saw seated there. The posture was stiff, guarded despite the way she seemed to aim for a more amiable presentation. Melodic notes that once laced her voice fell harshly flat, tone deepened, and, though smooth in richness, the enthusiasm was all but a memory. Her hair was longer, curls looser, and framed a slim face that bore little signs of youthful joy. She wasn't what was expected, far from, and Minerva couldn't help but feel as though she was much to blame for the stark contrast to what her memory could draw.

.-*HGMM*-.

As the evening drew onward, some taking their leave as night darkened the sky beyond large windows, Hermione allowed herself to loosen the reigns fractionally and partake in a few stronger drinks with Rolanda, Poppy, Filius, Hagrid, Pomona, and, finally, her Headmistress. They were who remained as the hours drew on. As continuing to ignore Minerva would have certainly been obvious and questionable, Hermione made the move to adjust the size of the table, as it had been cleared of dirtied plates some time ago. A round of praise for the splendid idea rose as hands reached to pick up glasses and opened bottles while the young woman withdrew her wand, Filius assisting to vanish extra seating, as she managed to swiftly minimize the wood for a proper continuation of company.

"Are you planning on staying through the summer months in preparation for the year, Hermione?" The short charms professor queried as the group took to their preferred seats to carry on as was. She was sure that this information was not only of interest to the man but also the woman seated across, who had aimed gaze upon her in waiting.

"If it's possible," She had every intention of familiarizing herself once again with the castle, regain some consistency, while working through her curriculum to devise a plan that suited herself. "Minerva, is that agreeable?"

Though she recovered quite quickly from the mild surprise of being addressed, Hermione could detect a somewhat indiscernible air.

"I have no doubt that it is agreeable, Professor." Minerva responded in kind, meeting the gaze Hermione had placed upon her. A brief nod of the head was what she was gifted with.

"Marvelous! At least, Pomona will have someone new with whom to gossip." Rolanda was met with a heavy slap to her arm in immediate complaint.

"Such a pleasure, I'm sure." Spoken with a dry sarcasm not unnoticed by her peers, Hermione passed Pomona an amused glance as way of a mild harmless tease, much to the pleasure of the flying instructor and pleasant surprise of some of her company. It didn't go unnoticed by Hagrid and the Headmistress, however, that it had not been until their younger company had imbibed in a few glasses of whiskey was she compelled to loosen her tongue and posture.

It came as some revelation that the young witch drank freely and with ease. She took no issue with refilling her glass when emptied, much like Hooch in that regard, which did strike Minerva as a mild concern. She hadn't known the woman to drink, to grow intoxicated, or to act in any other form than well-controlled. But, as it would appear, the years had inflicted a less staunch view of the activity, and this was a new discovery that Minerva wasn't entirely positive she enjoyed knowing.

Carrying on still for some time, Hermione did find some rhythm and ease. Questions posed some threat, still, she answered all inquiries with an air of nonchalance. It amazed her in some regard to note that the amount of interest her company had warranted. She had always been on good terms with her professors, most regarding her with the utmost respect, however, their approach to their, now adult, star pupil really did fill the woman with some pride. It was an acceptance. It gifted her with the idea that she was truly among friends... Although quite the foreign feeling, it did aid in some way.

"Well, I can' thank ye enough for the evenin' Professor but..." Hagrid couldn't seem to contain the yawn forcing a pause as he lifted his hand to stifle it. "It's 'bout time I head back. I do thank ye." It seemed that they all were in that frame of mind, as that one small gesture, a yawn, evoked a few from others in sympathetic response.

"I, second that." Pomona announced as she began to lift from her chair, a blissful look passing over rose laced features.

"Spoil sports." Hooch huffed before eyeing Hermione over the rim of her glass, watching the young woman drain her own of its contents. A glance was passed between them, almost like a question, one that took Hermione by surprise. She may have been more than a little bit tipsy at that point, she had yet to stand up and investigate the feeling, however...

"I shall show our newest member to her personal quarters then, if she's prepared." Minerva's voice rang in her ear as the scraping of chairs and murmurings of thanks and good night's were passed about...

Hermione's gaze bounced to peer at the woman. Without so much as a second thought, the chill returning to settle beneath skin at the thought of being forced to spend any amount of time alone with the woman, Hermione parted her lips in response.

"I think that's quite fine, I'm sure you have more pressing matters to attend to," Her voice maintained an even note, halting Minerva mid rise to appraise the brunette who turned to the woman at her side. "For some reason I feel the night is still young for some of us, hmm?"

"My, my... What a scandal, are you suggesting a private party, _Professor_?" If looks could kill. Rolanda couldn't help herself. There was a slight laughter to her phrase that could easily have been misconstrued as flirtation, Minerva knew it well. It was the sort of inflection that only became superbly obvious when the woman had been drink. Much to her astonishment and dismay, however, Hermione lifted her chin minutely, gaze narrowing in a similar fashion to what was witnessed in those golden eyes.

"Lead on and we shall find out, _Madame_." Replied Hermione in an unusually darkened tone, betraying notes of play that pleased the grey haired woman immeasurably. Hermione had nearly forgotten what it was like to have a spot of fun, Rolanda seemed to fit the bill for it, and with lowered inhibitions, the brunette could allow it. Plus, it was a decent excuse to put some distance between her and the Scottish woman. There could be no telling what would have been said, or how, in her state.

"I'll take care of the new recruit." Chuckled Hooch as she and Hermione rose to stand, leaving Minerva to fume silently at such antics as she watched the younger witch stagger off with the flying instructor, both bumping along in their inebriation.

Hardly what she had hoped for... But what could be done? Turning on heel the woman stormed toward the back of the hall, following after a swaying Filius, certain that words would be had with Rolonda later for such a scene.

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

Consequences of Falling

Ch. 5

 _Of course, Rolanda had known that her dear friend would be furious with the fact that they had wandered off as they had, drunken and silly, without much care for decorum. It wasn't the point to make the ebony haired witch jealous, although that was certainly the response she received when Minerva cornered her in her own private quarters the following afternoon. The woman didn't have to say it, she could see it plain as day, which caused the conclusion to be drawn that, even still, there was some emotion still felt there._

 _"Oh, calm yourself... I was saving you, you daft cow." She said, exasperation clearly writ upon her face. For the better part of thirty minutes the Headmistress had made no attempt at letting up, choosing to storm about and throw off scathing glances. It wasn't until Rolanda finally spoke that the other woman stopped her pacing._

 _"Saving me? From what, exactly, I may ask? Ridiculousness..." As though Minerva couldn't tell. The sober, pointed, gaze of her friend caused a grim line to form upon her lips._

 _"You could see as well as I could that Hermione has hardly warmed to you.."_

 _"And whose fault is that... You should have let me go." The Headmistress seethed. Rolanda shook her head at the woman. Folding her arms over her chest, she relaxed back into her seat, affixing a determined look about face._

 _"It will take time, I know you... You would have said something and then, what? We would have been one professor down. At least, with me, there was no chance of that." She didn't want to admit that Rolanda could potentially have been right, but who was to say? Of course, she would want to ensure that the playing field was even, that her staff and she was on the same page, that turbulence wouldn't be a factor. There was no telling what would come of it if that were the case. Soothing her frazzled nerves, Minerva permitted a sigh and just placed her hands on her hips, aiming a glance out the window._

 _"She could hardly..."_

 _"Look at you? I'm aware." Perhaps not obvious to all, but certainly to the woman who had some inside scoop on the matter. She watched Minerva raise a hand and pinch the bridge of her nose._

 _"What am I going to do?" The answer wasn't complex, hidden, or unusual. It was simple, really. Rolanda knew it and she knew it. Time; she had to give it time._

 _"Whatever happens, happens. I will not be a go between for you... So don't request it. Just let it happen organically, and don't push it. Keep it professional." Despite better judgement, the ebony haired woman relented, gave a short nod, and turned to leave the woman in peace. Worn out and decided, she did, however, linger in the doorway a moment longer._

 _"Will you keep an eye out?"_

 _"You know I will."_

 _This sated the Headmistress, so she took her leave. No comfort was awarded but a direction to drift did present itself and she took it. There was nothing left to lose. She would let the young be._

.-*HGMM*-.

Hours turned into days, days into weeks, and before Hermione could realize it a month had passed. Tirelessly, she worked for the Ministry and often stuck to her rooms, rifling through parchments and scrawls while also forming her lesson plans. It didn't take very long once the paperwork had been documented and signed for the woman to accept that this was her chosen path now. It did offer security and the promise of new scenery, new trials obstacles to overcome, and since some things would never change... She did find some joy in the thought. Meals we joined for the most part, though was often quiet and brought work with her, whether it be reading or a notebook to scribble in as thoughts formulated. She barely seemed to take a break from toiling. Again, not unusual, and most certainly in her nature.

Early that particular morning, she woke and rose from bed to pull on a fitted pair of leggings and a sports bra, tugging over head a tank top for further comfort. As requested, left upon her table on entering her living quarters, a mug of black coffee and some toast sat in waiting. She grabbed a piece of toasted, buttered, bread and bit down, holding it with her mouth, as she grabbed a towel and ventured out into the corridor beyond, chewing while she made her way down to the grounds to fit in a quick work out.

The sun was only just rising and the air was cool, the perfect temperature to ensure the faint breeze would catch the perspiration beaded upon her neck, chest, and shoulders when she strolled later to return for a quick shower then proper breakfast. With a routine being set firmly in place, her unease was slowly beginning to subside and structure was taking place of the uncomfortable abnormality she found herself leaning into upon her return to Hogwarts. For those days Minerva seemed to distance herself, give her room to breathe, allowing her to do as she pleased without comment. In another life, Hermione would have begged for the attention she knew the women was easy to pay. She would have bathed in it. But, as it would be, she was capable of avoiding the woman. And so she did.

Crossing the grounds, the brunette was unaware of the gaze following not to close behind, she didn't notice the agile grey spot silently zig-zaging towards the offered cover of rock or brush. It had been one of many mornings that Minerva had taken to the grounds when sleep evaded to chase after an unsuspecting mouse, pouncing and ridding her mind of unwanted thought. That was until ears perked toward the noise of footsteps upon the grass, the vibration felt beneath paws, to peek from Hagrid's garden to see the younger witch retreating toward the Quidditch Pitch. Naturally, she grew curious.

Closing in and focusing on the woman, Minerva couldn't help but take in the sight as she ducked through an opening at the bottom of wooden wall, just to creep out around a beam and peek at the woman stretching on the well manicured grass. As Hermione loosened up for her run, the older woman heard a faint knocking and rustling, she hid further behind a grouping of brooms just as one particular flying instructor jogged passed and out onto the field.

"Good morning!" The woman called out and Hermione affixed a faint smile, pulling her leg behind at the ankle and balancing upon one with ease.

"Rolanda, good morning." Minerva was somewhat speechless as the women began to chat about nothing in particular, their evenings and studies, while preparing themselves for what appeared to be a ritual of some sort. They had clearly bonded over a well maintained work out schedule... Even began to include one and other in their individual routines. She was amazed at the connection made, but not nearly as amazed to note how fit her newest professor had come to be.

She couldn't remember Hermione ever taking to sports or fitness. The woman had been a bookworm through and through. Although she had to assume working in the field for the Minister would require a level of activity, she did not ever expect to see that, though Hermione did maintain some curves, her stomach, legs, arms, and shoulders had grown quite defined. At least, from what she could discern beneath the tight tank and leggings. Her shoulders had broadened a bit, filled out, and the softness... It was almost minimal. Just a bit.

As she watched the women psych themselves up and break off into a racing sprint, she had to turn her back on the scene. She'd done enough eavesdropping and snooping, now she wanted to return to her tea and think about what it was she had witnessed. Rolanda was doing as asked, she kept an eye on the woman, was a friend, that was good enough.

.-*HGMM*-.

"Slow down, Granger!" Rolanda puffed and leaned back as she halted, her flushed face betraying the obvious discomfort of a cramp. The brunette slowed and jogged in place, her heart racing but in that comforting way it often did when adrenaline pumped through veins. They must have been going at it for an hour or so, each gaining on the other, shouting jabs and praise, egging the other to keep up and carry on.

"Come on, Hooch... That's all you got?" Grumbling and puffing, Rolanda waved at her in mild irritation at being bested, making no move to continue whatsoever, rather she dropped back to sit on the grass and laid back on the cool earth, letting that sooth her throbbing muscles.

"You win! You are Queen of the Pitch... So fuck off and let me relax." A deep chuckle rose in Hermione's chest and she let herself cool down, pacing slowly to allow her legs to grow used to just strolling rather than sprinting at full speed at great lengths.

"You did good, maybe Thursday you'll keep up." She chided airily and relished in the sound of hearing the older woman groan in defeat. It had taken a week for the women to discover one and other sneaking down to the pitch in the early hours, to talk about their activities and to run together. As Hermione had isolated herself quite well in the past, using the remnants of rage to fuel her work outs, she couldn't help but notice the differences between that and running alongside this woman. It felt nicer. To have someone there to push her further, to talk to. Someone. The flying instructor kept things light and manageable. She didn't pry into Hermione's life so deeply that made the woman want to lash out and seek silence, she was just there. An unlikely duo, to be sure. But for some reason it felt right. Comfortable. Lifting off the grass and into a seated position, Rolanda raised a hand for her to grasp.

"Give me a lift, will you?" Without hesitation Hermione drew near and reached, pulling the woman up to her feet and eyeing her with some bit of mischief.

"We should get ready for breakfast, come on, Hooch." Never before compelled to, Hermione flung her arm casually about the woman's shoulders and steered her toward their things for collection. It was a brief contact, but one that struck Rolanda. An uncertainty crossed tanned features, marring the slight curl of a smile that would have done just fine on its own. And Rolanda began to realize that contact wasn't customary for the young woman. Hermione must have sensed these silent musings and acted upon instinct, the young woman, once loosened, buckled and threw up an air of stoic defence, falling silent.

"You seem rather nipped, witch." The grey haired woman ventured nonchalantly as the pair strolled toward the castle. Hermione remained quiet, a warring of thought battling within the confines of her skull. Why had she done it? Been inclined to be close even just for that moment. She knew better... Then again, since her arrival her closest contact had been this woman. It was difficult to discuss when didn't have discussions any longer about feeling, friendship, or prospect. What to reveal and when to reveal it... She abhorred the undecided nature of it.

"I don't do this often." Her tone lacked strength and melody, falling flat, and gaze trained itself along the path ahead. Feeling those golden eyes scan the side of her face, she schooled her features into a look more neutral. Nothing, however, could ever mask the discomfort. It was a look that Rolanda was growing accustomed to seeing, though it didn't make her feel any less sorry for the woman. Not that she would ever say. It became ever more obvious just how deep the rabbit hole truly ran.

"You know, people here... Your colleagues, we can be decent people," She ventured to say while following the younger woman's gaze. "We aren't perfect, we do not always get along, but we are a team here. You can allow yourself a bit of freedom."

"No... I think not." Hermione sighed after a moments pause as the pair ascended the stairs and raised wands to part those large wooden doors. These few words stumped her company, not exactly the response she had been anticipating.

"You think not?" She asked evenly and with the lift of a brow, hand reaching to halt the woman that moment before she appeared to be turning to stroll without further notice to her own set of rooms. Hermione immediately stopped and looked down at the hand curled loosely about her arm, eyes raising swiftly to shoot an unreadable glance at the woman.

"I enjoy my peace and my quiet, my work," The syllables formed upon lips without pausing, chocolate eyes darkening as she addressed the woman and slowly removed her arm from grasp. "I work alone, far less messy... Far less complicated. If you'll excuse me." Before Rolanda could say another word, the woman was already striding off to avoid further questioning. The elder witch couldn't help but to think she'd set the other woman back... Got too close, too quickly.

"Damn it..." She muttered under her breath, chastising herself for not letting things lie as they were. The young professor was delicate, so delicate, it was like defusing a bomb. Patience was a virtue... She would give her some space.

.-*HGMM*-.

Who was she trying to fool here...

What was she doing?

Hermione was livid and she couldn't quite grasp why.

The water ran over her shoulders and back, scalding her skin, she let it. The heat only seemed to make matters worse as a bubbling rage settled deep in the pit of her stomach. Admitting to herself that the hate fuelled front she'd managed to convey was unnecessary at all times was the hardest part when, still, she couldn't manage to allow herself that bit of slack. Something had to give. Rolanda was there, aiding, and Hermione was just... Stuck.

It hadn't always been this way. It hadn't always been difficult. Letting someone, anyone, closer than the topical was a trial. All due to that damned fucking woman... The memory hit her like a flash.

 _"Boys! Stop!" Laughter through words caused the pair of arm wrestling men to aim glances in her direction. Seamus took that as distraction and slammed Ronald's hand down against the flat of table, immediately releasing to throw his arms in the air._

 _"Finnigan is victorious!"_

 _"You cheated!" The ginger shouted as he rubbed the back of his hand, tossing a glare at the brunette who was trying mightily to stifle her giggles. It was, in fact, her intention to spark a bit of a scene, causing one or the other to end their duel._

 _It almost felt like the golden days, before the wreckage of war, though the knowing it had transpired would always still play upon their minds in dreams and thought._

 _"We need to finish this." Hermione gleefully pointed out to the disappointment of her working partners. Despite the lack of enthusiasm, they did resume. She had always taken the lead, checked over assignments for her friends, and made sure they got a decent grade. More than anything, she loved the closeness. Though Ron had definitely made advances in more than one occasion, after a slightly less comfortable conversation, they managed to remain close friends. It had initially caused pain to know her family was still in Australia, well under the effects of the memory charm she'd put in place, but that didn't erase the fact that she had family here. She was never truly alone. Life had returned to some normalcy in those two months. With Christmas quickly approaching and an invitation to spend it at the Burrow, Hermione was thrilled. The only discomfort then was the simplest of facts that arose to be sensations felt when in the presence of a certain professor._

 _'Speak of the devil' She thought as she lifted her head to notice the woman entering into the study hall, her emerald eyes scanning for something in particular. When gaze met gaze, the woman made her way past groups of chattering students and reached to touch her shoulder gently upon arrival, a touch which sent a jolt of electricity through the woman who peered up to catch her eye._

 _"Miss. Granger, might I inquire after your assistance after dinner? I do have the last bit of catologuing to be finished and it may be well in our interest to get it sorted, finally, this evening." Her professor gave vague nods to her fellow Gryffindor's but ultimately settled her gaze upon the witch, her features relaxed._

 _"Of course, Professor... I'd be glad to."_

 _"Thank you, Miss. Granger. Feel free to join me once you're ready after dinner, you know the way." And with that the woman carried on, emerald robes bellowing behind._

 _"Sheesh, she's had you doin' that stuff since start of term... It's ridiculous." Ron mumbled as he looked up from his parchment, eyeing his friend across the way with a mildy irritating expression on her behalf._

 _"A lot was destroyed during the battle, the Ministry needs to know what was lost." Hermione stated as she turned her attention back upon the work. "It would have taken triple the time if I wasn't helping... And she's got enough on her plate already."_

 _"All part of bein' McGonagall's special favourite." Seamus mused, half paying attention, as he continued on writing and cross referencing his text book. "Just glad it's not me." A thought that Ron clearly found agreeable as they nodded and returned back to finishing their history assignment. Hermione could have cared less. She enjoyed the work, enjoyed spending time with the woman, and how easy it was to pass the time talking to her on equal footing, far from prying eyes and opinions. It was no secret that she was, really, the favourite. And never once did it bother her._

 _The day drew on and, once classes and dinner had concluded for the day, she bid Harry, Ginny, and Ron farewell for the night and ventured through the castle to seek out her adored mentor. Treading lightly, she reached the woman's door promptly and knocked, waiting, and adorning herself with an expression reading that she wasn't as overly eager as inwardly felt._

 _"You may enter!" She heard the Scottish woman call from within before reaching to turn the handle and tuck herself inside. The Professor rose to greet her younger company and gestured her over with a hand, her gaze bore signs of a quiet thank you for the willingness to aid in the taxing task._

 _"We have these three piles left to sort, number, and organize... Then we are finished, Miss. Granger." Hermione nodded and began to leaf through pages._

 _"Let's get started, then."_

 _The history of Hogwarts had always intrigued the witch. So, it didn't have to be told, that when given the opportunity to learn more, she was always up for the challenge. It was hard, however, to see the clear disdain written upon Minerva's features that told of the gravity of the situation; much had been destroyed, priceless items and articles, especially since the Room of Requirement had been positively ruined. As luck would have it, it was Friday. So it truly didn't matter how many hours into the night they worked. Once it was done, it would be done. Then both could slip into bed in comfort knowing that the information was complete and no obligations would further impede upon their schedules above that of the typical day to day._

 _Closely they floated around one and other in near silence, only speaking when cross referencing with the other what was held in hand, until the very last of it was numbered according, sorted, and lain to complete the massive volume of text to be sent off to the Ministry for documentation. Hermione found herself loosening her tie and drawing the thin slip of fabric from beneath collar, unbuttoning the top button of her uniform, and tossing the tie to lay upon the sweater she'd discarded what felt like an age ago._

 _"That's the last piece..." She heard Minerva softly utter from behind, partially startling the girl to turn swiftly around, near tripping over herself in the process. Strong hands reached to take hold of the woman and redirect her, pulling her forward until steady, but Hermione couldn't help but tumble into the woman still and knock her back against the table. Her hands had found the professor's arms and clung to, her heart leaping into her throat at the feel of muscle beneath, and she swallowed her surprise when she found Minerva peering back at her with the same astonishment._

 _"Miss. Granger, I apologize..." Whether it be sleep deprivation or whatever addled her mind, Hermione didn't hesitate when she leaned in to press her lips against the woman wedged between her and that surface. For reasoning beyond what her brain could tolerate, she committed to it and found that her lips felt the gasp of the woman, that sharp intake only furthering the need to feel more._

 _Minerva hadn't the slightest what was playing within the young woman's mind, the least expected being... Whatever it was she was doing. A moment passed and, though the kiss was met with a slack mouth, initially, the woman felt compelled to return... Something. That was until her brain caught up. Tearing her mouth away and forcing the brunette harshly backward, taking a step from the table herself as she held her at arms length, Minerva stared at Hermione in outrage._

 _"What ARE you doing?" She thundered viciously, absolutely taken aback by what had transpired. She watched Hermione attempt at catching her breath, her fingers still twisted into the fabric clinging to her upper arms, shocked by the separation and the anger crackling within green eyes. There was no going back now..._

 _"You have to know... You must have known." Hermione felt that, that moment when Minerva nearly gave into it; the attraction. That had to mean something after all they had been through... The rise and fall of her chest was mirrored by the ebony haired witch, both unsure, both reeling. Still, Hermione was the one to make the move._

 _With a strength and conviction she wasn't aware she even possessed, Hermione drove the woman back against the table grabbed her wrists, forcing her hands from her shoulders, as she claimed the woman's mouth and actually allowed herself to taste it. There was a fighting moment when Minerva, try as she might to shove the younger witch back again attempted, although this morphed into something else entirely as Hermione found the mouth beneath hers begin moving against, tasting, while wrists slipped from grasp to guide hands down around hips, tugging fiercely toward._

 _The sensation was felt everywhere, in places she had never thought could be accessed by another human being. While wild hands groped for any part to grip, ensuring no separation was to be had, one kiss became many, until Hermione found the tables turned as Minerva regained her strength. The green eyed witch swiftly switched their positioning, guiding the brunette against wood grain only to forcibly lift and seat her there, hips spreading knees, making the young woman whimper with the shock wave of pleasure such an act evoked._

 _She trusted Minerva... She felt safe in her arms, she felt passion, and knew that whatever course taken would be the best possible choice. The ebony haired woman could do no wrong. Hermione wasn't aware of how much she truly loved the woman yet but she knew what she felt then and there was incredibly deep, overpowering, and sincere. Which is why when she felt fingers trace along her thigh and slip beneath that thin fabric, she allowed them to seek entry where no one had before; as deep in her as they could get._

Curled in the corner of her bathtub, the scarred woman wept and let her tears be carried away down the drain by snakes of water. That first time had been just the start of what she thought was going to become a lifetime of mutual affection. Had she known then what she knew now, she'd have never taken that chance. It was a trial just to manage through mere conversation... Never mind allow friendship to blossom... Love? How? She couldn't help but feel that Minerva was winning. And she let her time and time again.

After what felt like an hour, she summoned the strength to get up off the floor and dry herself, fix her hair, and dress. A knock at the door interrupted the process.

"Come in!" She called miserably, buttoning the last few buttons of her white blouse as she heard the door open and close. She didn't look up from the task her fingers were tending to until they were finished, only to find a flash of green eyes staring from across the room when her gaze lifted. "What are you doing here..."

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

Consequences of Falling

Ch. 6

Time seemed to slow as the pair of women peered at one and other. Hermione was none too thrilled to be in the presence of the green eyed woman, she would have preferred to just return to her work and throw herself into a task, but that was not what fate had planned for her. Instead, she was drawn face to face in what had to be one of the most awkward of interactions. Staring down her employer in her private quarters, a woman who plagued her daily, even more so now that both resided within the same residence. Composing herself swiftly, she edged toward her desk in the corner of the room, the all too familiar chill radiating from her form without pause. Realizing how her prior questioning could have been misconstrued as charmless and rude - not entirely undeserved, mind you -, she parted her lips to speak a second later.

"You surprised me, I apologise. What can I do for you, Professor?"

"Forgive the intrusion," Minerva began, folding her hands before her as she took a few steps toward the younger woman, however halting when she noticed the brunette growing stiff with discomfort; she dared not cross that midway point. "As it would be, we've not yet had a proper meeting to go over your lessons and what plans you may have for the upcoming term."

The brunette's gaze narrowed, sensing the Headmistress had not yet finished with what else she had planned to say. She lowered herself down into her chair and leaned back into the seat, folding her arms over her chest defensively, evidently waiting for the other woman to continue. Which, of course, Minerva did so do not a moment afterward.

"I do understand that our circumstances are... Unique," Oh, how Hermione would have scoffed if she could have done so without feeling like a petulant child - Unique was a bit understated, she thought. "Although I do hope moving forward we can adopt a certain respect and understanding, move past our differences..."

"I'll have my curriculum on your desk by the end of next week, feel free to make whatever notes you see fit and drop it off at your leisure," Hermione responded flatly while beginning to busy herself with uncapping her ink well and rifling for a quill in her desk drawer, willing the interaction to end, hoping that by looking as though she had her own matters to tend to it would be just the trick to ensure that would be the case. "As for our differences..." Her tone sharpened, a rather pointed glance aimed toward the Headmistress in addition. "What's done is done, I'm in no position to waste your time with personal matters, so... Whatever it is you're planning to attempt at easing me, I assure you, there is no need."

Minerva listened intently, somewhat stunned.

"Now, if there's nothing more I can assist you with, I do have an abundance of research to contend with as I'm sure you have more pressing matters." Without waiting for the woman to respond, Hermione drew her gaze down to the pieces of parchment left upon the surface of her desk from the night before, indicating her wish to be left alone.

Finding it rather remarkable how Hermione chose to address her, how dismissive and stony the witch became in her presence, Minerva couldn't quite manage to contain the slight spark of a flame the altogether quite cool reception had ignited in her chest. She found herself unable to pick up her foot and take a step. Clearly, everything was not fine and any extended olive branch was clipped at the base, but that was not the way a proper working relationship was to work. There had to be balance.

Despite her better judgement, thoroughly unsettled by the attitude her new professor seemed keen on adopting, the Headmistress didn't make her way toward the door to relieve the woman of her company, but instead found herself taking calculated steps toward.

"Need I remind you, Miss. Granger, of who it is you are speaking to..." Minerva's tone adorned an edge of authority, one that roused the brunette to lift her gaze immediately only to note that the Scottish woman was then standing directly across from where she sat, leaving only the separation of her desk as barrier between. "I will not tolerate a member of my staff to undermine me in such a manner within these walls."

Gaze bore into gaze.

Hermione felt her temperature rising the longer she spent peering back into those emerald eyes, those eyes that were just as haunting then as they had been since the last she'd seen them. And that was enough to elicit a a slight growl.

"Need I remind _you_ , Minerva, of who it is _you_ are talking to..." She countered in return with a slight raise of a brow, fingertips releasing her quill to rest within its inkwell for later use.

This was not the response Minerva had anticipated upon receiving at all.

"I may be your subordinate, you may be the Headmistress of this school, but I was also, and most regrettably, your..." _Plaything_? Distraction? Hermione couldn't quite form the proper term on the tip of her tongue as with each that sprung to mind, the more bitter and grotesque the terminology became. "Well, _fuck_ whatever I was, it doesn't matter, what does matter, however, is that I have every intention of doing my job and ensuring our students receive an education befitting a Hogwarts attendee. And I can easily do this without having to force myself to be cordial with you, you who has done nothing these past eight years to garner an ounce of my sympathy. Do you understand?"

If anything was to set off Minerva, it was certainly that. Hermione didn't know half of what she thought she knew. She hadn't the slightest the extent to Minerva's own suffering, how much the woman had loved her, truly loved her - at least, who she had been before agony and time dismantled the woman seated before her. Perhaps, it was high time to have it out, lay it all down, rip off the band aid and just let the pieces fall where they may. Any option was a better one than what appeared to be going on.

Whether right or wrong, something had to give.

"You have no inkling..." She finally stated quietly, but before she could finish Hermione was already rising from her chair to lean threateningly over her desk, palms meeting surface.

"Do enlighten me, _Professor_ , I _beg_ to hear what it is you have to tell me after all this time. If it is some apology, save it... I have no need for it." The words were nearly ground between teeth as the younger woman seethed, growing more heated by the passing of moments as old wounds were beginning to be torn wide by the length of minutes she was being forced to dwell upon the subject. She didn't need comfort, she hadn't asked for it, Minerva couldn't even attempt to scratch the surface of forgiveness when the last thing Hermione wanted was to grant the opportunity for a decent nights rest. Let her lay awake in those darkened hours, let the guilt consume her for all she cared, it was the only sweet thought that allowed Hermione some peace; knowing that the woman who'd shredded her trust and heart suffered for it long after it had been done.

Hitting wits end, the internal inferno reaching its maximum, Minerva found herself willing not to run in the opposite direction. The torment of Hermione's evident and unbridled pain nearly too much for her to bear, pain which hadn't subsided as she had hoped it to over time.

"I wanted to run after you that day, find you and tell you that I did feel it in my heart to love you as I'd never hoped to before, believing that you could not reciprocate my affection, Hermione," The words tumbled over her lips and she permitted them, the quickened syllables reaching out to stroke Hermione's disbelief, lighting that emotion in chocolate brown eyes. "As I made to leave my private chambers to find you, Rolanda stopped me, she didn't allow for me to make it through my door to seek you. And I felt she was right, anything I had to say then... I felt wouldn't be reaching and I would not have been able to bear the hurt, as I have said many times... I have made a terrible mistake."

Earnest. Minerva spilled herself to pool before her ex lover and watched emotions ignite and extinguish furiously upon the marred features opposite her own. Those lips twisted, growing grim, and she could tell by the way Hermione was pressing down upon the surface of her desk that she was exercising great restraint. Restraint for what? Minerva couldn't say. All she knew was that a storm was brewing upon that face, she nearly flt the temperature drop as a lacy flush crept up the side of Hermione's neck.

The brunette was caught somewhere between wanting to scream, wanting to cry, and wanting nothing more than to reach for her wand and hex the Scottish woman into oblivion. Revealing that Rolanda may have had some prior knowledge about what had transpired between herself and the Headmistress made her feel... Almost betrayed. Was that why she was close? Was she Minerva's spy? Was the friendship just a ploy? Trust evaporated quickly and, despite herself, even after what Minerva had declared - feelings had been shared, she may not have been crazy after all -, it did little to sooth the beast that had become her since heartbreak overpowered.

It was too much.

"Please... Get out." Unbeknownst to her, tears had begun to well within already red laced lids. If she could have seen herself she would have been livid for allowing more than control to contort features. To her dismay, Minerva didn't look about to move and leave whatsoever. Instead, horrifyingly, she watched lips part to speak once again.

"If I had known that the outcome to my blunder was that you would become so... Mistrusting and hardened, that because of my lack of action you would not be able to overcome what happened between you and I to lead a full and happy life as I had hoped you would have done, I would never have let you walk out that door... I would have kept you," Minerva watched the young woman tremble, the quivering of her lips the telling sign that she was flooded with emotion that she simply would not allow herself to reveal - before the chance to further thwart her arose, Minerva pressed on without care of consequence. "You had never been, nor will ever be, considered a whore... I did love you, I did very much. However, I was too blind to permit it. I am truly, very sorry that you ever were lead to believe otherwise..."

" _ **GET OUT**_!" Thundered the brunette at once, her volume unmatched, as she grabbed her now cold mug of coffee and threw it against the stone wall, sidelong, the need to smash and to break something overwhelming, and the act itself kept her from taking hold of her wand instead.

The young professor was livid, wild eyed, and Minerva was far from finished, although she chose to give Hermione some room to breathe and to digest what words she had been gifted with. Some explanation to consider before they attempted at reconciling, which was the ultimate goal before term began. The ebony haired witch turned without another utterance and left the those quarters, a minute weight lifted from her shoulders by just having the chance to say what she had wished she had such a long time ago.

She left Hermione standing there, her body feeling as though she'd been splashed with petrol and handed a lit match, the fire of fury engulfed every inch of skin and she could hardly take those seconds of silence when the door finally closed. Her chest rose and fell quickly, she began to feel herself descend into that realm of chaos that only Minerva seemed to provoke. With all that had been said, what Hermione hadn't realized she'd been waiting to hear for so long, containing what the knowing had left her with was beyond what she could manage.

So, the woman had... In fact, loved her. Loved. Past tense. She'd managed to move on from the feeling or nullify it.

The dam broke once again and she felt herself collapse back into her chair. No amount of preparation could have shielded her against the effects of that apology. She wanted to break it down, find the lie, call her ex lover out for it but she did know the woman, even still. She knew when dishonesty was being passed between them; of which, there had been none. Not a single ounce. Hermione tried to blink away the tears but one shallow breath gave unspoken permission for them to snake down cheeks, and she leaned forward, resting her forehead against folded arms upon her desk, her body wracked with furious cries while she let it all out. Alone.

.-*HGMM*-.

"You really are a piss poor liar, Rolanda."

Seated in the staff room, the community space for faculty, Minerva reached over and poured her friend another drink, refilling her own glass afterwards. Rolanda grumbled and told her to fuck off, taking up her rye and nursing it, as Minerva replaced the bottle down between them.

"I told you... I am not the go between. Why couldn't you just let me confide in you and have that be it, god knows the poor girl's been through enough without you antagonizing her further." The grey haired witch muttered into her glass, aiming a look over rim, before tipping its contents to pour down her throat. Minerva just sighed and took up her own glass.

"I was selfish and I was irrational, and I needed Hermione to hear it. Now she has and the rest is in her court." She plainly stated with an air of nonchalance, mirroring her company and drawing her drink to her lips. "Time to move on."

At that moment, Poppy wandered into the faculty quarters and fell into a chair beside the ebony haired woman, peering between the two women and the bottle.

"Bit early in the day for a nosh, don't you think?" She piped, though she did summon a glass from the bar mantle across the room in order to join her friends in a drink.

"It's three in the afternoon on a Tuesday, dearest... Let's call it Happy Hour." The flying instructor raised her glass to the new entry with a spot of sarcasm, the corner of her mouth twitched. Minerva could only sniff in mild disdain.

"What's the occasion?" The medi-witch inquired, her curious gaze bouncing to settle upon the Headmistress who appeared less than thrilled.

"Just another day, Poppy. Nothing more." She answered with a casual glance.

"Have you seen our youngest yet, Minerva... You two were quite close. I do hope she's settling in just fine?" Attempting at making light conversation, little did Poppy know that she was touching on a subject most tender.

"She's fine."

"Oh... Well, that's good." Rolonda shot Poppy a glance and gave a short shake of the head, her pointed gaze eluding to something more for a later time. Unaware, Minerva kept her eyes trained upon the emptied fireplace. Somewhat lost in the sight of dead ash and flecks of white.

The woman fell silent.

Frankly, Minerva didn't know what the next steps were to be. She had left Hermione to her own devices for a length of time and now she knew she was having to do the same, again. Waiting was what killed her. Minerva never claimed to be a patient woman, she didn't revel in being kept in a the dark... Everyone was highly aware. But, in this case, she had no other choice. She had to allow Hermione the time it took to heal or to, at the very least, draw upon the conclusion that it wasn't her intention to truly cause her more harm. Professionally, she needed Hermione. She needed someone who possessed a great attention to detail, she needed someone who cold go above and beyond as most professors who had made a name for themselves at Hogwarts would.

Credentials aside, the woman had acquired all the knowledge she needed to in order to make a damn fine teacher. Minerva knew this. Though in matters that treaded upon the more personal, Minerva remembered her student and friend. Somehow, Hermione had managed to surpass what others had rarely attempted as though it were as simple and easy as colouring within the lines. She learned Minerva's traits, fostered the woman's care, and snuck herself deep within the skin. They had been close friends... It hadn't taken very long at all to accomplish after the war had ended.

 _"Do come in!" Her hands were quickly sifting through parchments, searching for on in particular; a letter from the Minister she seemed to have misplaced. She heard the door open and close, the sound of faint footsteps drawing closer, though she didn't look up from her more frantic motions with aims to seek._

 _"Troubled, darling?" A rich voice caught ear as arms looped loosely about middle. Humming, distracted, Minerva turned face to catch her lover's lips in a chaste kiss. Pleased by this small act of affection, Hermione gave the woman a brief squeeze before wandering off to start the kettle._

 _"I have lost a letter... From Kingsley. One which I wish I could find..." She called out, hearing the tap in her small kitchen spring to life. Tea... Brilliant woman. Shifting around her desk, Minerva strode to her bookcase and decided to investigate the small pile of letters there, letters she often placed in a small nook for safe keeping._

 _"Was that the letter from last Saturday, Minerva? The one you received during our lunch?" Hermione called back in question amongst the sounds of tea cups and saucers being sought out and placed upon the expanse of counter top._

 _"That would be the one..." No sign of it. Frustration was not a kind look upon the woman who thought 'I must have brought it to my office...'. "We settled on a date for our meeting but I must have forgotten to fill in my calender... I feel like I'm losing my mind, I could have sworn..." She felt a hand on her hip, guiding her to turn. She aimed a look upon the young woman who looked near laughter, her smile stretching._

 _"Minerva... Your meeting is at 5 in the evening, next Thursday, here..." The brunette produced the letter and gave it to her lover to be checked over. Sure enough, in Kingsley's signature lilted scrawl, 5 p.m., Thursday evening, in her office... Hermione leaned to press a small, soft kiss to the base of the woman's neck, chuckling._

 _"Where in Merlin's name did you find this?" A flush crept over Minerva's cheeks as her lover withdrew upon hearing the sound of the softly whistling kettle._

 _"In the bedroom, my darling... On the chair, under my maroon sweater, that you tossed when you had a particular craving for 'dessert'..." Hermione gifted her with the flash of a mischievous smile before once again disappearing to make up their tea. This information lit a small fire in the pit of her stomach. 'Ahhh... Now I remember...' She thought, a small smile curling the corner of her mouth._

 _"What would I do without you..."_

 _Relaxed and at ease, she quickly jotted down the reminder upon her calender then strolled to find her lover; the woman with the tea. As was routine on Friday evenings, the pair had begun to spend that time quietly together, chatting about the week, reading, and sharing a cup of hot brewed drink. They slipped into a comfortable routine, somewhat like the one they had slipped into before the night Hermione had decided to make her attractions known. It still shocked the older witch every once in a while, but she couldn't help herself but to bask in the joy it brought. Not to mention the fact that Hermione could be an absolute vixen should she wish to tap into that facet of her personality. Both had endured great hardship, they deserved some peace and fun. Minerva tried not to think at what cost._

 _"So, I was thinking... I've become quite adept at glamours recently and I noticed that Flourish and Blott's was having some sort of event tomorrow evening, what do you say to you and I taking just a few hours and going together... No one will know, just to change things up a bit." Resting against the doorframe, leaning there, Minerva listened and watched with thinly veiled intrigue as the younger woman nearly finished up. She didn't raise her sights from the task but sensed the Headmistress, smiling._

 _"You want to go out to town tomorrow?" Some surprise filtered through her expression that remained otherwise collected, though Minerva felt a small pinch of uncertainty about the idea. What if they were caught? What if something happened? It was so much easier just to pretend their affair was perfectly fine and normal behind closed doors... But to go out?_

 _"_ _With you, yes. Just once... We could go to the book shop, go to dinner, then come straight home... No one will even know it's me." Allowing the tea to steep, the young woman turned then to approach her lover, sensing her unease. 'Please... Just once. Just a little date... Let me love you and buy you a book', Hermione thought. She'd watched the woman circle through her collection many time, knowing full well each volume had been read upwards of three times already. She wanted to do something nice, she wanted to appreciate the woman, even if just for an evening out._

 _"I don't know if that would be a very wise idea, dearest." The Scottish woman said at long last, reaching when her lover was near just to brush a few strands of of a curl behind her ear, leaning to press her lips to those soft, delicious, ones the brunette possessed. The vibration of a hum sounded into the kiss, Hermione's hands lightly smoothing over the green eyed woman's sides and waist. Her lips trailed to place lingering kisses along the edge of her jaw and down, paying what felt to be special attention to the gentle slope of Minerva's neck. Try as she might to suppress a groan of pleasure, when fingers curled into her hair and gave a gentle tug to guide the woman's head back, she couldn't help but to gasp._

 _"Please, Minerva..." An airy voice, lust laden and almost roughened, sounded just beneath her ear. Hot breath and the mix of that tone stirred the older woman - how could she possibly refuse?_

It was the little things. Those short moments of affection and appreciation. The telling signs that she had been truly loved... She should have known. Hermione had worn her heart on her sleeve and Minerva had mistaken it for something far less.

She remembered that day vivedly. How the nip of Autumn swept across any skin shown to the elements, how bundled they both were on their trek to Diagon, and how closely Hermione held and, well concealed beneath a heavy glamour, still looked radiant despite looking nothing like herself. She'd managed to age herself fractionally, making it all the less aparent the true identity of the woman beneath. Much to their pleasure, no one bothered with them. They let the women live. Just for a moment, it felt like another life. One far less complicated.

By now the staff room was the place of conversation and Minerva found herself drawn to the window, peering out across the land ahead absently until speck in the distance called upon her attention. Strange how it moved, how it sped and slowed, it took a few moments realize that it must of have been someone on a broom... But no. Not a broom. It closed some distance to zip back toward the mountains, and through the sprinkling of rain, Minerva was able to conclude upon the distinct outline of a bike. Specifically, a motorcycle. There she was...

Escaping through daredevilish type feats meters and meters above ground. Minerva would have been impressed if the sight hadn't stirred a sort a queasy feeling.

Turning away from the window, she rejoined the group in hopes of fixing her mood.

Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not the next day... Perhaps not even the next month or year... But just maybe they could return to the comfort of friendship. Possibly. It was a long shot. But more than lovers, they had been wonderful friends.

She could live with that.

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

Hey Readers!

My good lord, I am so, so sorry for leaving this story for so long. Life really got away from me and I do hope this chapter will suffice.

It is a bit of back story and the follow up should be posted within the next day or so! I had always intended for this fic to be a long fic, so I do hope I can manage to make these next bunch of months filled with updates!

For those of you that are willing to stick with me... I really, really appreciate it!

Yours Truly,

Scissors

* * *

Consequences of Falling

Ch. 7

One professor wasn't to be seen at dinner. Whilst the rest nibbled and drank, conversed and debated, green eyes passed glances of the cursory nature from face to face – all save for _one_. It was to be expected, really.

Once she had been left in her quarters and given the opportunity to feel all that she had needed to feel, Hermione didn't have the patience, nor the ambition, to look upon anyone else at the time. Long after pieces of ceramic had been mended back to their prior shape of a coffee mug, once her eyes had dried and her hands steadied from the tremble of furious passion, she found herself back in her bedroom, holding fast to that worn leather jacket. _Her_ leather jacket. A gift of the most unbearable sort; a gift in passing.

Oh, how rude it was to be intruded upon as she had been. How insanely uncalled for. The attitude she had toward the Scottish witch was default, it was warranted, and, just as was anticipated, it had a certain effect upon the woman in question – although not the sort that had been hoped for. Rather than being left well alone, the woman could never just _leave_ it alone. She couldn't stand the justice of it, the brunette guessed. Time heals all wounds, they say. It would be different if the wound wasn't consistently ripped open again and again, leaving only a faint membrane of new flesh to be repeatedly split to reveal that wound which never seemed to fully heal. Time granted minor comfort. Nothing more.

Cradling the leather in her arms, hugging the bunched jacket close, the professor buried her face against the stiff collar and took a deep inhalation. It no longer smelled of its old occupant, yet, it was still as comforting as it had been the first time she'd pulled it on. If only it were like a gateway, something she could use to communicate, or, better yet, something she could use to resurrect what she had lost those few years ago.

 _"You must be the woman I am looking for." Above the din of witches and wizards enjoying their late night meal and beverages, an accent that was far less crisp, far too relaxed, hovered questioningly above the other hushed voices. American. Unusual._

 _It was a casual meeting place, one of the few that she knew of, and one where she needn't worry too greatly about being interrupted or recognized to the degree that any other Inn closer to Diagon or Hogsmeade would undoubtedly inflict upon their introduction. Hermione turned to look over her shoulder and her digits crept into the pocket of her lengthy wool coat, feeling for the handle of her wand, instinctually. Dirty blond hair, a fair face with a peppering of light freckles, a crooked smile, a faded leather jacket in this cold weather... This must be the import._

 _"They told me to look for someone who doesn't look like she wants to talk, I have to say... You really do look like someone pissed in your Cheerios." Brown eyes narrowed. Without another syllable spoken from those slightly curled lips, those lips that held as much mischief in their lilt as a pixie, the blond sidled up beside her and slid onto the empty stool standing there, a gloved hand lifting to gain the attention of the innkeeper down the line._

 _"Very tactful," Hermione replied dryly, partially raising her half finished drink upward to finish. "You should remember, however, that you want me to like you. Or, at the very least, respect you." Before she could even finish, the woman beside her began to chuckle, quietly... It was infuriating._

 _"Ahh, well," The blond began, her hand gesturing for another round of what the elder witch, her new partner, was drinking. "I hope you'll understand that I'm not too worried about that, considering your file basically states that you don't really 'like' anyone. What chance do I have?" Manicured eyebrows raised and gaze turned back from the barman to peer sidelong at the brunette. Hermione began to feel as though she was going to have her work cut out for her – not only was she entirely inconvenienced by needing to bring this representative along for the ride, but the blond had a mouth on her too._

 _"Your president spoke highly of your department, as did your head of law enforcement did of you, Miss. Ryder, but I am not easily as convinced as my colleagues." A pointed glance and a sullen tone was the only reward, then the last remnants of scotch whiskey was thrown back and empty glass discarded. As it was replaced on the bar top, accompanied by one other, the woman beside her slid a piece of paper in Hermione's direction._

 _"Whether you learn to like me, to deal with me, or not, Miss Granger... The matter still stands that these fugitives are working their way south," That same hand lifted from paper and reached for a glass, leaving the brunette to peer downward at the notice of accompaniment and avoid her own freshly poured drink. "I can only guarantee that I will be of use to you, potentially in ways that may even surprise, if you give me the opportunity."_

 _Chocolate brown eyes rose to meet those of rich blue and noted that the humor within was no longer the most prominent. The curl of lips vanished just as quickly, a seriousness replacing that more amiable look about face. Amelia wasn't making only a point, she was imposing. And like a Hippogriff accepting the proposal of a new acquaintance, though with caution, Hermione relented._

 _"Fine."_

Hermione had not liked Amelia. Not one little bit. In fact, she was filled with such disdain for the woman, initially, and made it known so frequently that she was certain she would finally run the woman off. She never did.

Amelia Ryder was a leading inspector for the Magical Congress of the United States of America. Being that there had been some ties between America and the United Kingdom, in terms only of escapees immigrating from Britain and the surrounding area to the United States without the proper paper work – some even to France, as well -, it was only time before the governments formed an alliance and worked together to find, interrogate, and locate the rest of these undesirable witches and wizards to finally bring them to justice. Hermione was assigned one of these ambassadors... And she was none too happy to admit the change. Little did she know what fate had in store...

 _The women worked well. Together. Amelia with her charm and charismatic nature paired with Hermione's bookishness and willingness to adapt made for a force unlike any other. They were not fast friends. They were hard on one and other. Yet, with every intended mission embarked upon and fulfilled, they learned. Respect was not freely given, it was earned._

 _Two pairs of feet stumbled up a creaking flight of stairs, two pairs of hands slapped the others away and prodded – it was a chase, of sorts. It was normal. Expected. Rounding the corner and down the upper floor they raced to their joined rooms as their animated verbal spar, still hushed in volume, alerted only the old maid a few doors down. Quiet, though not quiet enough, giggles were heard despite. How she wished she hadn't left her door ajar this night. It was to be expected; every few weeks, at that._

 _The noise was only silenced when the women were hidden within the confines of their room. Wards and silencing charms were readily set in place their, strong ones, to ensure the safety of those living behind those doors. They had a routine and one which they stuck to. It was only appropriate considering the dangerous work which they had readily thrown themselves into over the course of the past year. When you spend enough time with a person, anyone could tell you, that you adapted to a certain way of living. Who took out the trash? Which was better at barging in wand drawn? What was it that irritated the other? What had begun as a simple work partnering grew to become far more than that... Above all, they had become friends._

 _"If I hadn't stepped in, you would have been completely obliterated by that memory charm! You would've been fucked!" The brunette tossed her comrade a glass from the table, empty and ready to be filled. A scoff was what she received in return. Amelia collapsed back on the bed with her legs dangling off the side and held her glass out, knowing that Hermione would be there in only a moment to pour her a serving of whiskey; their preferred drink._

 _"That sorry lump of shit could hardly cast a proper confundus, nevermind a fucking memory charm." She mumbled bitterly in response._

 _Three. Three fugitives, three wizards, three eager wands to be put down to rest. Three. They had been prepared and they knew the lay out of their little abandoned building, a manor, old and musty. Just the sort of place one would hope to avoid for a lifetime, filled with relics and dark artifacts... Clearly, some dark magic had been spilled there for the air was cold and unfeeling. There was no life there. No spark of home. It was just a building._

 _They had not left without a scratch. Hermione had taken her beating when she'd been thrown back off her feet and into a book case – ironic that that which she loved most and given her harm. Amelia? A nearly bone breaking curse causing the muscles to contract to their limit... They were not without scars. Not without pain. But, once all was said and done, they found what they were looking for; information. The numbers of these dark followers were beginning to lessen, but that didn't mean others wouldn't surface in their place. Still, they were a team. A good team. And they weren't going to be stopping anytime soon._

 _"Well, the fact that we didn't kill them gives me brownie points with the Ministry and, right now, that's all that matters." Stated the brunette as she rounded the bed with her own filled glass in hand, bottle outstretched to pour one out for her partner. Blue eyes rose to meet those of brown and a slight air of amusement took hold of Amelia's countenance._

 _"Just because we didn't doesn't mean you didn't want to. Don't think I didn't see that look on your face after you got yourself rag-dolled into the library," Amelia stated without skipping a beat, a statement that only garnered a faint scowl in return and a muttering of 'I still didn't do it, did I'. "Speaking of, take off your shirt, let's take a look at that back of yours.." The blond sat up in bed and beckoned her partner back over to where she sat, ready to inspect the damage that had been inflicted and to heal that damage, if necessary._

 _Grumbling all the while about how the blond mothered her too greatly, Hermione set down their bottle and returned to Amelia, leaning to place her glass on the bedside table, mightily trying not to flinch. Mortal wounds never stunted her too greatly. Scars were scars, she had many, and she didn't care. The only injuries Hermione tended to care about were those more internal, the truly dangerous wounds that, if left unattended, could kill or cause serious harm. Far more serious harm than a bruise or a cut._

 _"Come on now, I saw blood on your cloak... And it's soaking through the back. You got yourself a gash, Granger." Hermione tossed the blond a look and turned away, avoiding those hands which would have worked at her sore muscles. Rather she ventured toward a mirror and pulled her shirt over her head but not off, turning around to look over shoulder at the reflection she could see in that smokey, mirrored surface. A tear in the flesh, not terribly deep, just a bit longer than she would have preferred... But only around six inches. Her shoulder had seen worse. It was the bruise that looked nasty, even more so than the cut, but that could have also been due to the blood dried to the skin._

 _"Amelia, this is nothing. It'll heal." Resigned and fine with the outcome, Hermione pulled down her shirt and returned to collect her glass, a pair of blue eyes peering at her with some confusion and concern all that short way._

 _"Why do yo do this? Every time?" She heard the blond question as she passed in front of her jean clad knees. The brunette didn't answer. Not immediately. Not soon enough for that blond woman to stand close behind and reach for her elbow. "Why can't I just heal you?"_

 _"Don't." Hermione cautioned as she pulled her arm from the light grip that had taken it, a look of warning casting back at that face she'd come to recognize as friend. Hesitation held fast to those muscles, that arm that hung in the air and in those fingers that hand tried, failed, to subdue. It did fall, however, and with it did those blue eyes to the place where that sickening bruise had become unseen beneath dirtied, reddened fabric._

 _"We have traveled now for ten months – ten months in rented rooms, ten months willingly waltzing into the most precarious situations, ten months drinking at the end of the day, ten months nearly getting to know one and other through these trials and yet... ," Amelia paused, almost for a lack of something to say, to question, never to assume, then she lowered herself back down to sit as she watched the brunette step further away to sit down in a chair in the corner of the room. Close, but not really. "I hardly know you. To trust you, I need to know you. I need to know that in every case, you have my back. We are partners, whether we wanted to be, like it, or not... So why is it that so often, so often that I've noticed, you have no problem throwing yourself in the path of something that we both know, you're not stupid, is going to get you hurt."_

 _Harry had questioned her in this way. Ron had tried to question her in this way. Her friends... The ones she'd grown with, conquered with, tried to understand. Tried. They always fell short. The answer was simple, really. But never fully understood. Cradling her glass in her hands, peering down into that amber liquid that she'd come to use as a comfortable way of coping with long days, longer nights, she warred with what she knew to be a conscious choice. A safe choice. Secrecy was not a cage from which she begged to be freed, it was a necessary means. And now there was this person, a good and honest, understanding, person who was trying to find the key. The question was... Was she ready to explain one more time?_

 _"Amelia, you have been nothing but... An absolute joy to work with," Hermione eventually stated, setting herself back against the cool, wooden chair and relaxing there. Her eyes rose, met those opposite, and saw the woman there looking back with a subtle curiosity. Curiosity and concern. "Admittedly, I didn't like it very much when I had to take someone along for the ride but, thank Merlin, I am so glad it has been you." Silence fell upon the pair. Whilst Hermione sorted through her thoughts, Amelia sat there on the edge of the bed and sipped her whiskey. Waiting._

 _"I don't care about scars, or these wounds, not at all," Hermione finally admittedly in a manner that was plain and unashamed, gaze drifting off to focus on something other than the other woman. Focusing, but not really seeing. "In fact, they make me feel... Like I'm living. Like being in pain helps me to remember that I'm still... Alive. Present. So, I don't mind them."_

 _"Well, why do you feel 'dead'?" The blond asked forthright, nearly as though thinking aloud, and entirely unapologetic. Rarely did she question Hermione. Her motives, her plans of action, her past... Their conversations mostly revolved around the day, some childhood stories, work... Never so personal. Amelia talked about herself far more than Hermione, she wanted Hermione to know who she was. Why she was the way she was. What her work meant to her... The brunette was far less forthcoming. But tonight seemed to be the night. Or so she hoped._

 _Even though she could clearly see the brunette was on the verge of frustration, Amelia swelled with untapped patience. She didn't question further._

 _"When I was in school, I was a Know It All, an 'insufferable' Know It All, at that... I was...I am... A brilliant witch. Another brilliant witch took notice in me and we became very, very close friends," Hermione ventured to say even though the taste in her mouth was quickly growing sour. "After the war, a war which I had helped fight for nearly a decade, I returned to school to finish my last year and that brilliant witch and I got so much closer." Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd tried to explain... To whom she had tried to explain. It was like tearing off a band aid adhered with super glue – difficult and messy. Pressing on, she found herself leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees, shrinking beneath the weight of the topic as the blond only listened and stared – the latter being something she was highly unaware of._

 _"We began an affair for many months, our friendship flourished into much more, and she was my absolute everything – my dearest companion, my mentor, my professor, and my one great love all wrapped neatly into the package of one person..."_

 _"Your professor?" Interjecting in surprise, somewhat caught off guard by such new information, information that clearly meant Hermione, in that case, had completely by-passed most rules and laws... Such a surprise from what she had heard of the woman when she was girl... Amelia couldn't help but voice her shock. "I thought that there would be rules against teacher-student relationships here in the UK..."_

 _"There are rules against it, I didn't care," Hermione stated blankly whilst raising her line of vision to her comrade. "I didn't care." She repeated again, a bit more softly, as though it were an inward thought. "I was so deeply, deeply in love with who she was – kind, passionate, strong... Everything I had ever wanted to be, but I didn't want to be her... I wanted to be with her." Taking a deepened breath, Hermione then threw back her glass as added confidence to finish her story, explaining herself. Once settled, she resumed. "The day before my graduation, after a night of fucking and cuddling and great conversation, she told me in certain terms that the affair was over. That I had been an 'indulgence'. Naturally, with my heart positively broken, I left. I joined the Ministry and now I do this work. My future was... Shattered. My delusion of what love and partnership was... Well, it was dashed. If my dearest friend, my closest confident, could commit was atrocities upon me, what could someone else do?"_

 _"You.. You're just extremely heartbroken."_

 _"I 'was' extremely heartbroken," Hermione corrected, her tone gaining just that little bit of momentum as she tossed a pointed glance. "Now I am simply 'here'. Not heartbroken. Just 'here'. With you. I don't want to talk about this anymore and I don't want you to ask me any more questions about why I am the way I am, I just want you to understand that I have had things done to me and I have been hurt, and now this is me moving forward with my life in the way that suits me best, even if it's uncomfortable every once in a while. Can you just... Accept me? Like this?"_

 _Hermione wasn't one to plead. Or beg. She didn't need to in most cases, although in this case there was something in her eyes that Amelia hadn't ever seen in that nearly year long stint together; she saw the hidden turmoil, the ignored pain, and the pleading that this was just the way it was to be. She couldn't deny that so much of what she'd learned made her understand the woman so much more. Her guarded nature, the way, even when she smiled, she still looked a little sad, her recklessness with her body... It made sense. Heartbreak does all sorts of things to people who never expect it. Sighing deeply, mirroring her friend in posture and resting her elbows on her knees, looking as though she was still processing this, the blond gave a faint, short nod._

 _"I accept you."_

"I _accept_ you." The young professor murmured against the cool leather her lips were pressed to, her mind whirring with memories of the past and present. Closed eyes, tightening fingers, Hermione rose of the edge of the end of her bed and slowly made her way to its side, her side of the bed... The side she'd grown accustomed to sleeping, anyway. Crawling under the heavy blanket, fully clothed, she pulled the jacket close and held tightly to it.

Hermione had experienced two great loves in her short life. Two more than many could ever hope to achieve. She didn't expect that there would be a third... Though, perhaps, teaching... Teaching could possibly suffice.

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

Consequences of Falling

Ch. 8

Just as she had said she would, the young professor _did_ manage to complete her curriculum for the Headmistress within the following two weeks. In this time she devoted her days to its completion and avoided much interaction with her fellow staff, choosing to take her meals in her rooms, alone, and without distraction from the task she was charged with. This solitary life didn't bother or inconvenience her in the slightest, she enjoyed the act of throwing herself into the task without interruption, although once or twice _interruption_ did come – but only in the form of a knock at her door. When the woman didn't answer, no one entered in or bothered with her any longer.

Carrying her parchments and course outlines, sectioned by chapters Year One through til Year Seven, under arm, Hermione did finally venture from her rooms and private office out into the corridor and down towards the swinging staircases. She considered the fact that the ebony haired witch, whom she'd previously avoided at great length – as well as, her silver haired counterpart -, may just bump into her along the way. In those days, she managed to prepare for it. Seclusion, even in all its convenience and quiet participation, still eluded to a feeling of fear and uncertainty, neither of which sat with her comfortably. No, not in the slightest. Hermione was made to be fearless and sure, steadfast, and that was the image she hoped to further convey now that the dust had settled.

Weaving down corridors, calculated footsteps ventured no further than the golden statue of the Headmistresses office.

 _"Password?"_ The low, grumbling of a voice greeted in its own particular way.

"Let me see... Ginger Newt?" Hermione replied crisply, only to watch as the statue lifted its wings in the slightest and began to turn, carrying stairs with it, stairs on which she stepped to be drawn up to Minerva's office door.

The question remained: Knock? Simply enter in? She was, after all, staff... Not a student any longer. Knocking, she concluded, gave an air of questioning, where as turning the handle and strolling in offered the sense of a little entitlement. She was _meant_ to be here, therefore, she _should_ be awarded that little bit of entitlement. Hand reached and took gold handle to turn without further debate, allowing the witch to tuck inside with not a second to spare.

"Headmistress..." The woman called as she turned to gently close the door behind, her eyes focused solely on that rather than the innards of the office before her. Not a sound. Hermione lifted her gaze to the other womans' desk and searched.

 _"She's not in, Granger... I'm afraid you've just missed your dear head of house."_ A silky, deep voice floated down to reach her ear and, with it, the spark of recognition. Gaze snapped to bear witness to that face that was turned down upon her and watched as her most _beloved_ potions master folded his arms over his chest, casually. Hermione didn't move from her spot in the doorway initially. As with everyone who hadn't had the opportunity to lay eyes on her face for a number of years, it was always the same – a cursory glance, a questioning look about face, a comment... So, she waited. Severus did always have the sharpest tongue... Yet, nothing.

Those dark eyes did scan her visage, trained for a fraction of a moment on her marred features, but nothing escaped those thin lips. Much to her surprise. He did, although, seem to shift for a moment, uncomfortably, beneath her own piercing gaze.

"I see," She replied dryly, finally, as she did manage to step forward and toward Minerva's desk, avoiding tables of trinkets and whizzing silver things that she really didn't care to inspect. "I'll leave this here then for when she returns." Hermione dropped her thick file of parchment upon the Scottish womans' desk with a harsh slap, the weight of those pages meeting hardwood snapping a few sleeping wizards in their portraits awake. She heard their mumblings, _heard..._ However, she didn't care to listen.

The younger woman turned and made haste to leave but a few select words caused her pause a few feet from reaching the door.

 _"You owe no one an explanation, Miss. Granger."_ Snape's voice once more drifted with unexpected words of parting.

The young professor hesitated.

Now, in _this_ instance, a number of scenarios ran through her mind; what was he talking about? Did he know? Who else knew? Why were these words the ones he wished to convey? This was Severus Snape talking, here...

"Excuse me?" Turning slowly back toward the portrait hanging there on the wall, the woman furthered by taking one calculated step in its direction, her features darkening with a telling look of warning and making clear that the man within the frame should choose his next words very carefully. The man seemed to detect a change within the woman who, despite her question, didn't appear to be a _passive_ party, at all. She exuded a sense of rigidity and disdain, a look he knew all too well himself.

 _"It's no secret within the confines of this office that there is a history here between yourself and our headmistress, don't fool yourself by thinking that this secret has been kept under lock and key... If Albus were here, I doubt, he would elude to anything different himself."_ Eyes travelled to the empty portrait where there was, indeed, the missing face of one white bearded wizard. She considered this for a moment before returning her gaze to meet that of the Potions Master peering back down upon her, noting that, on this day, he no longer stared down the length of his nose in condescension.

"Who knows." It wasn't a question. She ordered for the information rather than make inquiry with a tone that was even and without rising intonation. Why did it matter? It mattered only because she despised being discussed without presence, and why did it bother her so greatly? Because it was no ones business but her own.

 _"Have no doubt that there are but four parties who are truly aware here, only four... Myself, Dumbledor, McGonagall, and Hooch."_

"Why are you telling me all this, why even discuss it with me..." Hermione questioned as soon as the thought, again, crossed her mind. It didn't add up, something felt amiss. Kindness was not one of Snape's most glowing qualities, she could remember nothing of the sort until his dying wish to give Harry Potter a simple memory after laying down his life for the young man. This was the _most_ kindness she had ever witnessed, so why now?

Severus seemed to read her mind on the matter, he needn't the power of legilimens to figure out that the woman was cautious – cautious only in this moment, by the marks on her face.

 _"I give you this because I have been in a similar circumstance long before you stepped foot into the Great Hall for sorting, Miss. Granger... I have experienced what it is like to be discussed without knowledge and to hold onto many secrets while living within these walls,"_ He replied simply and without the air of arrogance that she'd come to associate with the dark eyed professor. She listened. _"You'll come to realize that your colleagues are a tight group of witches and wizards, tight enough that nothing remains secret for very long while living among them, speculation about you will rise, especially because you are no longer that bright eyed, bushy haired irritant you were whilst studying within this castle. You've taken to some sort of transformation, I see."_ Hermione's gaze hardened.

 _"Whether you sort your business or not, is no ones business but your own. But be prepared that at one point or another, due to such changes in your character and mind, you will... Undoubtedly... Find yourself garnering some attention... And with a gossip like Sprout wandering the halls, you can only imagine..."_

Food for thought. Something which Hermione hadn't anticipated when she arrived to drop off her lesson plans that afternoon. Whatever the situation may have been while she was a student at Hogwarts, Snape made a fair point. Her demeanor had been far different, her tone, her eyes... Features. The way she carried herself was not that of some _girl_ with a chip on her shoulder. Well aware, Hermione could only take a moment to breathe it in and drop her chin for a moment in thought.

"Duly noted, Severus," The woman said, her syllables lacking that crispness that indicated she wished for harshness, in this regard she aimed for a stalemate. "Thank you."

The woman did not wait for the man to reply before turning and leaving that office. Denying that his points were sound was something she couldn't justify. Denial wasn't becoming, nor was hiding, however. So, there had to be some give, so long as there wasn't just take.

Hermione returned to her quarters and strolled through to her bedroom. The new information clouding her brain needed to be settled and untangled. She stripped herself of her blouse and bra, slipped out of her trousers and socks, grabbed some running shorts and a sports bra out of her dresser, then redressed herself. Snatching her running shoes off the floor beside her nightstand, she sat on the edge of her bed and pulled them on, tying them tightly. It had been a good while since she'd had a decent run and she hated that feeling; the feeling that she was getting out of shape. She couldn't remember what it was like to be thin and toneless, flat – yet, soft - of stomach... Her body may not exactly have been a temple, but it was a force to be reckoned with.

Which was exactly how she liked it; strong and agile.

* * *

"How is _she_?"

Kingsley was not a man who beat around the bush. He didn't gild any lily. And to say that he wasn't in the slightest bit concerned was almost to say he wasn't the Minister of Magic. He was a man with concerns and was, most certainly, the Minister of Magic.

The green eyed witch shifted in her seat and raised a knee to cross her leg over her other, her hands lacing and folding to rest in her lap, hands which she peered down upon for a moment before lifting her gaze to meet that of the Minister's which was aimed back upon her with subtle curiosity.

"I cannot say." The woman replied simply. It wasn't a falsehood at all to say that she wasn't entirely sure how the young woman was. It, also, was not a lie to admit that she hardly _knew_ who the young woman was at this point. They had shared so little time together and the time they had spent within each others company was either devoid of polite conversation or entirely explosive. There was no telling, in her mind, what was going to be the outcome by the end of the school year... If the newly appointed woman was even to stay.

"That is not good news for me, Minerva," Kingsley stated clearly, his large form shifting from behind his desk to sit on the edge of his desk in front of the woman within his office. "When I handed Hermione over to you it was with the understanding that she would find a place within Hogwarts where she could work comfortably and potentially cool from some of her more active work with the Ministry..."

"Kingsley, we have been friends now for quite some time, you and I, and when you owled me with this situation you really gave me no indication of Miss. Granger's status or her mind set," Emerald eyes bore signs of discontent, worry, not only for the sake of her school but for the sake of the situation she had found herself. "The woman living in the castle is not the same woman I remember leaving it, I have no doubt that she will take her duty to Hogwarts seriously and with all the best intentions in regards to our students, but we did have a form of a falling out, Minister... That which you can understand, I'm sure."

Dissatisfied, the dark skinned wizard sniffed, uncertain, and eyed the toe of his shined, black shoe for a brief moment.

"Hermione is a liability for me in current standing, McGonagall. She is reckless despite being highly reliable, but her record here is not what I can, in good conscience, expunge or sweep away under the rug." Explained the man with a sigh. He had known her, knew her, since her school days. He was well aware of the young woman and her great talents, especially her academic prowess and her hand in the war; a war which, for the woman, had lasted many years. Which was why he _needed_ her in the first place. Somewhere along the lines of an Auror was her position, still she held no title. She was his personal researcher, she reported solely to him. Her excellence knew no bounds... Eventually, nor did her hubris.

"Her unwillingness to confide any of this in me is a considerable problem, I may have been her head of house but she is no longer a student in my charge. She's an adult woman and one of my staff but that doesn't garner me any rights to information so if there is something I should know as to _why_ you have suddenly wished for me to employ her, I need to know what exactly _I_ am to be dealing with." There was an imploring look about the Scottish witch, undeniable in its presentation, her eyes told all that, in this moment, there was no going further without knowing what it was that she required.

The picture in Minerva's mind was only partially painted. The bits and pieces that she could manage to put together only involved herself – her own failure in the eyes of the young woman and little more. Little could she ever assume that there was an entire section of Hermione's life that, up until that point, had gone unaddressed. The mystery of it all soon was to come unraveling but not by the young woman herself, but by the Minister who had immediately employed her after graduation. It wasn't his story to tell, although there they were. And since Minerva was already been put in a position of _lying by omission_ , that Hogwarts wasn't truly in great need for a professor when, really, it had been the Minister himself who had placed her in the very position Hermione found herself taking, there was no going back now.

The man closed his eyes briefly and dropped his chin, this was not to be perceived as a physical manifestation of inconvenience, though to many it would have appeared to be. No, this was his frustration due only to the series of circumstances within which they had found themselves.

"I will never regret hiring Hermione Granger," Stated the sullen man finally, his tone lacking its official nature that, when adorned, meant you were speaking to the Minister – this now had turned to conversation between close friends, off the record, so to speak. Minerva silenced herself immediately. "Although, over the past years, a great change has caused her to become unlike anything I could have possibly imagined."

"I didn't know matters had become so dire." Admitted the elder witch as her hands twisted upon her lap to lace and re-lace. Kingsley shot her a look as though to say 'you haven't the slightest'.

"When she was hired her numbers were impeccable, exceeding expectation, she's such a clever woman that any puzzle that was thrown her way was almost immediately worked and solved with expert precision. Death Eaters are still a problem case, as I'm sure you realize. And not only Death Eaters but other factions of dark witches and wizards have sprung to life in their wake – there are still, even today, people that believe that Voldemort will return, and are willing him to do just that."

Minerva had assumed as such. Even though a multitude of people had watched as the Dark Lord was rendered to nothing but a pile of ash, evil would always find a way, always be waiting. It had only been not even ten years since the fall of Voldemort and his followers, still it would take tens more to finally put to rest it had truly been the end. The woman gave a grave nod of the head and awaited further explanation, for that was all she could do given the current atmosphere.

"The one issue was that somehow, in some way, Hermione... She's grown so fast. Whatever managed to change her managed in a great way," Kingsley continued, his arms lifting to fold over his large chest. "I can't even begin to explain how many people I've had to answer for, how much paper work I've had to file, just to cover her tracks... For every one that she managed to bring in for questioning, another six were put in the ground. She is relentless."

"I can't imagine her doing such things..." The ebony haired woman rose from her seat and turned her back upon the Minister, disbelief scrambling her mind at these discoveries he appeared so willing to unearth now that the question had been posed. Hermione could never... She wasn't a murderous assassin like Bellatrix Lestrange – good natured, compassionate even when compassion wasn't warranted, humble to a fault in her presence... These were the things Minerva remembered. Pacing the short distance behind those two lofty office chairs in front of Kingsley's desk, she finally returned sights upon the man who could only look off in the vague direction of his bookshelf.

"A couple years after she began working for me she was partnered by a witch sent to us from MACUSA..."

"The Magical Congress of the United States of America?" She paused her pacing and interjected in confusion, only to receive a slight nod to indicate the positive before the man before her continued, as did she in her steps.

"Unfortunately, MACUSA has had to investigate some breaches in their own back yard because of the events that had transpired here in our home country, unexpected, although, luckily, we had prepared for the unexpected," The headmistresss' brain was swimming with the new details, she suddenly found it difficult to keep track... Reminding herself to work with her head, rather than heart, became paramount. "Miss. Granger and Miss. Ryder worked closely together for five years – four, of which, they had entered into a relationship more intimate than that of their employ."

Head snapped in the direction of the man seated there against his desk, emerald eyes betraying the indiscernible mix of emotion there...

There had been another.

The mere suggestion shook Minerva to her core. Never wanting more than the absolute best for her ex lover and dear friend, she scolded herself for feeling slightly surprised to note the new information. For some reason – even if it was perhaps ill thought out that there hadn't been another woman to capture Hermione's heart, a rather arrogant thought -, she truly hadn't considered the fact that the young woman would have taken up with another. Then the realization dawned...

Facing Kingsley more directly, Minerva's brows drew somewhat pinched. The man could only appraise as it seemed the Headmistress was piecing thoughts together.

"For four years... There was an end?" Did the woman leave her? Did Hermione take _her_ leave of the woman?

"Miss. Ryder was caught in the crossfire, suffered a great injury... Quite suddenly," A knot formed in Minerva's throat, she found herself reaching to land a hand on the back of one of two winged leather chairs. "Hermione tried to nurse her through her injury at the site of the mission, however, nothing she could have done would have prevented Miss. Ryder from succumbing to her injury. A most horrible, albeit, powerful and well crafted jynx to induce internal bleeding... Even in that case no one could have predicted that our most knowledgeable Miss. Granger could not undo what had been done. Miss. Ryder died in her arms... They fielded the mission alone together, misinformed, and that, I'm afraid, was my fault."

"They got away?" The bastards got away... Minerva's voice was but a hushed whisper, her question hardly able to reach its potential volume due to the utter devastation she felt welling at the recognition of such pain. Pain that she hadn't a single clue had transpired since Hermione's end of days at Hogwarts. She hadn't ever imagined. Some comfort was felt when she witnessed Kingsley slowly shake his head, comfort replaced with ice, as though a bucket of cold water had been poured over her head, the moment later when he replied.

"No, they didn't get away," He seemed to shift uncomfortably before continuing in all seriousness, as solemn as the grave. "Hermione tracked down every single one of a group of seven, as quick as I've ever seen anyone track down a dispersed group, and she killed every single last one until she was sure no other had Miss. Ryder's blood on their hands... I kept her on course for a year after, it was all I could do, but she's slipping, clumsy with herself, and she needs safe grounds now to recollect and relearn... Whoever she is... Before I can even imagine reinstating her status with the Ministry entirely. Her health is at risk if she continues down the path she is on."

* * *

The Quidditch pitch would always be a welcoming sight. In her school days, Hermione had never been a fan of brooms or flying, although, in her later years, she'd come to appreciate the thrill of having air whipping about her cheeks as the descent on her motorbike brought her sickeningly close to crashing into the dirt. One moment; that last moment before she pulled hard on her handles, her body raising off the leather seat and her feet forcing down to straighten out that split second before wheels melded to gravel and carried her away down a dusty road... It was a feeling unlike any other. Sirius's motorbike was both a gift and a burden – a gift from Harry which she would always treasure, and a burden for there wasn't enough time to pay tribute to such a gift.

The bike had seen her through thick and thin, through the most unendurable moments and those that had made her poor heart soar with possibility.

Nothing could replace her one steadfast companion; a motorcycle.

Hermione jogged out onto the pitch and found herself jogging in one place, limbering up, starting her heart. The heart was a muscle that needed to be warmed before it took on the inevitable. She started there, on that very spot, just for a moment, a minute and a half at most, then... Direction. Her legs sprung to life and the woman began at a reasonable pace. With a dimming sky overhead and color splashing over the rim of those towers adorned with blue, red, yellow and green, the softness of the well kept grass beneath her feet, well... It warmed her heart. Alone and without a partner, being as she couldn't seem to bring herself to call upon Rolanda for company – the one person who she had begun to even remotely feel a slight bit of normalcy with -, the brunette woman ran.

Away from her problems, away from her fears and mistrust, away from her pain, away from her shattered morality... She ran. The white hardened lines of tissue seen in abundance lacing her skin – her shoulders and her back, her chest and her stomach, arms, legs, neck and face... These bits called a _scar_ were only physical representations of what had been. Physical fights and physical flaws. These were things which the eye could see quite plainly written and drawn out like a map in various directions; a town, a city, roads to nowhere... These drawn lines were but a fraction. A moment.

A moment ends.

A memory can last forever.

TBC...


	9. Chapter 9

Consequences of Falling

Ch. 9

Refreshed as she had ever felt in these weeks that had passed, as refreshed as she could have hoped to feel, Hermione returned to the castle with the towel she'd brought with her in hand. A thin layer of perspiration shimmered upon any bare skin revealed and she lightly dabbed at the moisture from her neck and chest. The weather had been fine and the breeze warm, the soft earth beneath her feet a welcome change from that of cold, grey stone, and for the moment she was sated. She was calmed.

"My, my Miss. Gra... Hermione," Poppy greeted aloud, calling almost, as she exited the great all arm in arm with Pomona. Hermione turned back to cast a glance at the women and found herself fixed there, two pairs of eyes appraising her less than formal dress. "I hope you found your run most enjoyable."

"We were heading up to the lounge for a brandy, you should join us! Tell us all about your travels these past years! We haven't yet gotten the chance..." The shorter, squat woman announced, her round face positively pink. Dinner must have served the woman well. A tight smile adorned Hermione's lips and she draped her small grey towel about her shoulders and round the back of her neck.

"I'll go change into something more appropriate and meet you..." The young professor began as the two women neared. There was no chance of escape.

"Oh, pish! You look _lovely_ , and besides... No one will pay you any mind in your running gear. If I had a sickle for every time we've seen Rolonda in her bra... I'd be a _very_ rich woman." Pomona's arm slipped in to fit around Hermione's thinner, more toned one and all but began dragging her toward the staff room, much to the well masked disdain of her younger colleague. Was there ever to be any chance at peace? Perhaps, she should have stayed on the pitch. Then maybe she wouldn't have to deal with the chummy giggles of her two elder staff members.

Covering her skin was not a personal preference in public, really. It was not due to her own discomfort that she chose to layer and to keep concealed those marks upon her flesh. What people seemed not to understand was the simple fact that these drew attention, questions, pondering, they became discussion. How she hoped, in this case, they would not become the center of attention, as it was not their purpose. Luckily, even as they entered into the teachers lounge where Filius, Rolonda, and Sybill had already congregated, not a singular one appeared to eye her state of dress – or, rather, _undress –_ and only welcomed the trio in with chirps of greeting and a resetting of chairs to accommodate.

"A full house do we have here! What a wonderful surprise!" The Charms professor exclaimed with glee as he hopped to sit upon his preferred seat once more.

"As I predicted our dear professor has come out of hiding to join us, hasn't she?" All too familiar was the wavering voice of Sybill who, despite having given Hermione such inconsiderate critiques in her younger years of schooling, seemed none too bothered to have the witch hanging about. Water under the bridge, so Hermione would have said. But, thought with some humor, if only she _had_ possessed the _sight_ , perhaps, she could have avoided those less than stellar moments that lead to that point. The thought brought a faint smirk to her lips.

Drinks of various sorts were poured into varying cups and glasses, some preferring their tea and coffee after dinner rather than a slosh of scotch, brandy, or whiskey. Hermione eased herself down in a comfortable chair, relaxing against its fabric backing with the glass of whiskey Rolonda placed in her hand, and though she did thank Rolonda for the given drink, she didn't quite keep the edge from her quieter tone, garnering a slight look that couldn't readily be defined. With everyone in their seats and as relaxed as could be expected, the conversation began to bubble within the small group with animation. Topics ranged as they often did between the several minds who all housed differed interests and personal goals, achievements, but the numerous avenues weren't difficult to feel ones way down when the umbrella above them was _magic_.

It was Filius and Poppy, really, who captured Hermione's attention the most with their interjections. Charms and Medicine had always held the young witch captive whenever they were brought into relaxed conversation and dark charms – jinxes, hexes, and curses – were a great deal part of the work she'd come so accustomed to. Medicinal magic, though, whether she liked it or not, was a sore spot. She wasn't as proficient in the ways of healing as she would have hoped to be, despite having an abundance of knowledge in regards to healing magic, she couldn't accept that there were, would ever be, something beyond her reach; an injury she could not heal.

Post-Traumatic Stress took many forms. It manifested itself in ways that no one could really predict it would in a mind and a body. A smell, maybe... The touch of someone's hand on your arm... Laughter... Just a feeling evoked by an image or the hearing of a few choice words... None of these effected Hermione in this way. It was her own mind, her own churning over thoughts – her trauma came in the form of reliving these moments without the ability to stop the train before it left the station.

When she was a young woman, she was always trapped within her own mind. She couldn't argue that this capture wasn't enjoyable and rewarded her much in her student years, how did they think she came up with half of what she had? Why had she discovered the workings of the basilisk? The Devils' Snare? The potions? Lupin the werewolf? All these things? She searched internal, she read books, she succumbed to knowledge and memorization... It wasn't _being_ trapped, at the time. It was the pure and unrelenting joy of her natural disposition – Hermione _loved_ to learn. In the here and the now, that little bushy haired Know It All still existed somewhere beneath the skin, somewhere deep in there, with unbridled enthusiasm. The unfortunate reality was that this little girl was mute, bound, and well hidden. The pair hadn't lived as one for many years. In this conversation, however, with these great minds converging all around her, she felt that tug, that willingness to rediscover, whether she realized it or not.

"Hermione, you've hardly said a word! What are your thoughts on the Cypress tree, you above all with your worldly knowledge should have some sort of input, you always flourished in my class..." A well timed distraction from Pomona shook the brunette from her reverie and her eyes snapped to view the smiling, round face of the aged witch before she realized that four other pairs of eyes had managed to rest upon her as well. She would have felt uncomfortable, had it not been for her smarty pants inner child.

"The Cypress tree, you say?" She questioned with a softer tone to see Pomona nod emphatically, it was the only reinforcement she needed to carry on. "Now, simply 'The Cypress tree' is an incredibly _broad_ term, which exactly had you been looking at.. Pilgerodendron uviferum from Tierra del Fuego, microbiota decussata from Siberia..." Hooch stared at her like she was speaking in tongues, meanwhile, Pomona appeared suddenly elated and she slapped Poppy's elbow in her immediate joy.

"See, I told you, best in class..." She chirped before returning to the question at hand. "You see," The elder witch began as she inched nearer to the edge of her seat. "I had considered many but my heart has been set on _Fujian_ Cypress... Now, the reason for my coming to this conclusion was..."

"The factor of its longevity, considering its properties far outweigh those of similar breeds of Cypress tree, especially its Italian counterparts... Yes, I've studied the same." Hermione interjected without any means of rudeness for cutting the woman off, but having prior knowledge awarded her this small feat. That and the whiskey she'd imbibed, the few glasses that had been refilled, allowed some of those more rigid muscles to loosen up, especially the ones which worked her jaw.

Now entirely invested within the topic at hand, Hermione did give her two cents and once again felt as though she was actually a part of something. Just for a moment, other worries and concerns were forgotten. Hardships, though hers had been many, just for an evening drifted off somewhere into the ether and left her there, among _friends_ and colleagues, to discuss frivolously about those interests that she hadn't flexed in a longer period of time than she would have liked to admit. Unaware was she of the golden eyes of the flying instructor, the one who kept refilling her glass as well as Hermione's, and how they watched the brunette woman with vaguely concealed interest.

Since Minerva had had her talk with Hermione that day a fortnight ago, she had ventured to see the woman twice. She had lifted her hand, knocked on her door, and waited. Waiting patiently was not one of her many attributes, the virtue of it was lost on the woman far more quickly than was tolerable. In this very special case, she did wait though. She waited to be called upon by the woman for a talk, a run, and, perhaps, now it had been in vain. Something was off in the way that Hermione addressed and treated her with those looks. Something she couldn't quite put a finger on. She wanted to find out, to understand, what had changed within their short newfound friendship to cause the difference in demeanor. Being that they were all together and that eventually they would all part ways, this, she assumed, would be her chance.

The hours crept passed and ever onward, just as one would assume them to do, although no one really paid much attention to the clock or how many refills they'd consumed during their lengthy chat. Sybill was an interesting character. Hermione had never really paid the woman much attention in prior years, especially when the woman had scorned her so. The _art_ of divination had never struck a chord within the brown eyed woman and its practically was frequently called into question whenever Hermione had the chance to do so, although she had to admit that the quivering, somewhat nervous looking woman was an _interesting_ character. Kind. Animated. Her little quirks did amuse, to a degree, but even those quirks that Hermione had begun to notice didn't distract too greatly from the fact that the professor was a great conversationalist who invested just as much in listening as she did in speaking.

Filius was much the same in that regard. Agreeable and compassionate, funny.. He was quite wicked in his ways but only in humor, the little man loved to laugh. It showed in all the lines on his face. He asked more questions than he answered, the ever practiced student as well as teacher. Hermione had always respected him in this way – the way he took it upon himself to express so freely that, althought he was incredibly brilliant in his craft, no one, even in his ripe age, could possibly scrape the surface of what lay beyond. Charms was a branch of magic that someone with the ambition to wield it worked upon for the rest of their lives without wavering. Constantly changing and growing, it developed itself in many directions. She loved to listen to him as a student and found that even as an adult she could easily do the same.

It was slightly concerning, however, that a certain silver haired witch remained mostly silent through this evening. Now that the sky beyond their windows had darkened to night and the moon was high, a light speckling of stars splashed across a rich, dark canvass, candles and fireplaces and a couple of lamps lit there lounge, although, none too many. It was dim and cozy, like sitting deep in a library late at night with nothing but a lit wick to illuminate pages; an atmosphere that she adored. Although discontent settled in the form that Rolonda seemed not herself. And who only knew for the sake of why?

Disrupting her train of thought, the clock struck twelve and announced that the middle of the night was vastly approaching.

"Dearest me, where has the time gone?" Trelawny trembled and turned in her seat to peer through her large glasses at the grandfather clock there in the corner, the one that nearly caused her tea cup to hit the ceiling if her grip had been less than tight.

"Well, it's to be expected, we're all old and get lost in time some days, don't we?"

"Speak for yourself, Flitwick." Hermione shot with mischief as she scrunched her nose at the man and rose from her seat. He threw his hands up in apology but his watery blue eyes glistened with humor.

"The young one is learning not to take your tripe," Poppy chuckled as she, too, rose from her seat. "Come now, Pomona, walk me to the infirmary." The young professor heard the medi-witch sigh as her back was turned. As quiet as a shadow, Rolonda appeared at the drink counter beside her with her wand held aloft. The woman reached and softly tapped her glass with its tip, a quick cleansing charm readying the crystal for it to be replaced.

"Would you like company on your stroll, professor?" The yellow eyed woman asked in softened tones, quieter than that of her usual robust notes. Hermione tossed her a glance as she replaced her glass with its others.

"Yes, that would be fine." She stated without second thought before they turned back to their colleagues and said their farewells and good nights, passing thank you's for the pleasant evening before the faculty dispersed to return to their own quarters for the remainder of the night.

Just outside the teachers lounge, Pomona and Poppy parted ways with Hermione and Rolonda, the former pair quickly returning to their more chatty selves all the way down the corridor while the latter began to stroll in relative silence. If there was to be any awkwardness, neither acknowledged it. They simply walked together without words.

Foot by foot, the unlikely pair drew nearer to Hermione's quarters. Time was slipping through Rolonda's fingers, at that point, and she knew that if her tongue didn't make fast work that the chance would be lost to investigate the strange nature of their friendship. How cold and distant Hermione had become was easily measured in the way her own lips remained sealed.

"You haven't called upon me for a run lately, I stopped by your rooms but it appeared you were out." The woman stated as they reached the second floor. The brunette cast a glance at the woman walking alongside her and considered the woman for a moment.

"I hadn't been in any mood to see anyone for a while – the headmistress, as I'm sure you're aware, required my lesson plans and I needed some time to myself." She stated plainly with an air of nonchalance, a hand lifting to remove her towel from the back of her neck. The silver haired witch was not convinced.

"You've acted quite different towards me lately..."

"And what of it?" It took a moment, as steps drew one then another, to realize that there no longer was a second shadow in time with her own. Hermione paused in her own spot and turned to look back upon the woman who peered with mild agitation written across her features.

"If there's something I've missed, I'm more than willing to listen. Have I offended you, Miss. Granger?" Rolonda asked pointedly, her arms lifting to fold defensively across her chest. Hermione lit a fire in the woman, she felt. Just one little spark.

"I don't play games, Rolonda... And I don't make friends easily, you know this," Hermione began as she stepped nearer to the witch who readily stood her ground and maintained the eye contact her younger colleague provided. "My trust runs very thin and I feel like you have shaken that trust..."

"In all seriousness, what could I have possibly done to manage such a thing..." The flying instructor began only to be entirely cut off the witch with a harsh hushed whisper, the same witch staring her down and inching ever closer.

"You _know._ " A flame lit Hermione's chocolate brown eyes, the look was scorching and her features darkened with every second which past as those eyes illuminated ever brighter with the fire of well chained anger within them. Confusion was what she saw in those yellow orbs opposite her own and, if possible, it made her even more furious. "You _know_ about her."

A switch flipped.

A bag of bricks could have been thrown over the astronomy tower and landed on her head and, yet, the woman probably wouldn't have flinched as the recognition hit her harder than those rectangular pieces of stone.

"I... I... haven't told..."

"Don't take me for someone less intelligent to know that you and Minerva have been close friends for a very long time, longer than I can imagine, I'm sure," Hermione interrupted Rolonda's stammering with a raised hand to halt any more of the mangled sentence from being uttered. "She came to my office and blithered on about apologies and I was shocked to be informed that all this time you _knew_ , you have been _aware_ , and you never gave me the slightest evidence to indicate that. So what am I to think? Are you her appointed watch dog? From the moment I stepped foot inside this castle _you_ of all people were the one to get closest, Minerva's _best_ friend... Her confident. I'm led to believe the only reason you got close to me with this little friendship is to snoop around _my_ life for the woman that _fucked_ it..."

" **Now you hold on right there, girly,** " Much to the young woman's amazement, her company appeared to have finally found her voice – a voice that rose above her own with a snarly growl -, halting her entirely. "Yes, I knew. I was there that day going to meet with Poppy for tea and there _you_ were running from Minerva's private quarters in some wild little state." Resigned to listen, Hermione raised a questioning brow, silently egging the woman to continue, even if in the corridor near her rooms where very few seemed to travel. "I was about to knock on her door when the woman flew into my in an even wilder state than the one you'd left in, I managed to wrangle her back into her room before she made an incredibly large mistake."

"What kind of mistake?" Hermione immediately asked as her digits tightened around the fabric held in her hand. The woman before her shook off a bit of her fury and stepped away to the side, sighing heavily as she turned around to lean back against the windows there, seemingly pondering if she had said too much. There really was no going back now, though.

"I stopped her from running after you that day." Admitted the woman as she witnessed the brunette puzzling the pieces back together. Hermione didn't look at her but down the corridor, at nothing, as her mind worked to understand exactly what the flying instructor was trying to say.

"You stopped her." Came the short, stunned regurgitated reply. The elder witch gave a short nod.

" _I_ stopped her," She repeated once again, just to drive the point home. "When I had seen what I had seen and when I knew what she told me, there was no way I could allow for Minerva to run through the castle in her state and risk being discovered by someone, anyone, and put her career in jeopardy. You do realize that she could have _lost_ her entire career in that one singular moment, all because she fell in love with a student." Hermione's gaze finally found that aimed upon her by two yellow eyes.

"She didn't love me, Rolonda..."

"Whatever it is that helps you to sleep at night, if it's the belief that that woman _doesn't_ love you or loved you, is your fucking business, Hermione," Shot back the witch standing there, arms crossed, and without a shred of deception creeping upon her features. "But I know, in my heart of hearts, that someone who hadn't just lost a great love doesn't torture themselves in the way that that ridiculously sentimental woman did for years after what had happened between the two of you. She's stone on the outside, Granger... But on the inside she's gooey, you know that."

"Enough," The young professor said in a way that was less of an order and more pleading than she would have preferred. "So, am I to understand, that you weren't using the lie of a friendship to keep check upon me for her." Rolonda immediately shook her head to confirm the statement.

"No, I wasn't... I genuinely enjoy spending some time with you. You are complicated and incredibly witty, very smart – you've grown up into a very interesting woman, professor. I mean to aim for a sincere friendship, one I hope isn't entirely ruined by the fact that I know your history and have had a hand in it. But, no, what happens from here on out between you and Minerva is not my business, nor is it the business of anyone else. Remember that."

Words that she'd heard once before that day sprung up yet again. She wondered what that meant?

"Funny, Severus told me the same thing early this afternoon while I was dropping off my papers for the Headmistress." She stated somewhat airily, exhausted. Confrontations of the verbal sort weren't her favorite way to end the day – in fact, they often left her as drained as could possibly be. Rolonda seemed to snort and shook her head, her memory of that man even still ever present, having worked with him for so long.

"Bit of a git, he was... But his advice... Well, he was a good man. It's too bad no one ever knew that he could be a brilliant conversationalist." The flying instructor pushed off from the wall that she leaned, her arms falling to rest back at her sides as she peered down the empty hallway back in the direction from which they'd come. "Not too much longer to your rooms, professor... I suppose I should take my leave."

"Wait." Hermione's lips parted and she began to continue but stopped short as she realized her feet and hand had worked of their own accord to draw her nearer to the woman, her digits reaching to stop Rolonda from leaving immediately by taking her arm in a light grip. The silver haired woman did stop and turned, facing the witch so close that she didn't believe she had ever stood so near to the younger witch.

Hermione had no friends. Well, she did. None of whom felt real right then and there, not as much as Rolonda had in the weeks aside from that dark period where Hermione's perception and paranoia led her to believe this woman wasn't as noble as she'd hoped her to be. She wasn't great at apologizing, nor was she great at accepting when she was wrong. In this case, she did what she felt was appropriate to do, no matter the difficulty posed by doing something as simple as reaching out and hugging the silver haired woman, who, after a moment, returned this act of truce.

"I'm very sorry that I insulted you." Hermione uttered with genuine apology. To say that Rolonda expected this sort of end to their conversation wouldn't be sincere. She hadn't hoped for it nor had she anticipated it. Yet, there they were.

"I can understand you." Was all she managed to say before they parted from respective hold and parted ways, both to consider what had just happened between them separately.

* * *

The hour was late.

When Minerva returned to the castle that night, her office was the first place she entered, not feeling a stitch of sleep despite the course of events that had transpired through the day. Upon her desk lay the unanticipated gift of Hermione's lesson plans, laying there as though the woman had quickly dropped them and left within less than a minute. Of course, she didn't expect the woman to linger around her office when Minerva wasn't to be found. Due to the utter lack of exhaustion other than that of the emotional sort, the Scottish woman felt not a bit inclined to retire to her room and to bed. Rather she stayed there, seating herself behind her desk, to review the lesson outlines left behind for her.

Much like the younger witch, the elder professor preferred nothing more at times than to bury herself in a task, making it all the more easy to avoid aiming much thought upon that which would make her uncomfortable. Throwing herself into her work had been what had aided her, keeping that last thread of sanity from snapping under the tension.

As it would be, whilst eyes scanned page after page, perfectly crafted lectures all aligned, the woman couldn't help but to feel that there was little, if anything, to really make note of – as it always had been, Hermione Granger's work was pristine. The only real concern was how deep she was willing to delve into the dark arts... To explain and to demonstrate. Some of her lessons for sixth and seventh years seemed to straddle the line into inappropriate material for students to undertake... It would have to be discussed.

Later.

Much later.

Now was not the time. Not when she could barely consider meeting the womans' eye. No, now that the rest had been revealed, that which she couldn't possibly imagine, she felt it was time to truly just let the young woman to come to her. Space was sometimes the greatest gift to give, the most generous, and now she was ready to give it.

TBC..


	10. Chapter 10

Consequences of Falling

Ch. 10

To try and explain love in all of its infinite meaning was to try and dissect faith, hope, trust, and a dream – it was to try and forgo that which was tangible with the understanding that, beyond all physical properties, there lies a vast ocean of the unseen, yet, it was there.

It was _always_ there.

Love takes many forms; it's in the gentle touch of a hand offering reassurances, it's in a look from across the breakfast table, that one that says 'what would I do without you sitting right there', in a voiced acknowledgment of that emotion when you only need to hear 'I love you with all that I am', and it is the intangible glue which holds our friendships, our relationships, together. True unconditional love is the greatest, and most coveted, gift of all.

When a person delves far too deeply into the dark, it's not difficult to imagine how incredibly hard it is to find their way back to a place where there is a chance that acknowledging love, in its truest forms, is possible. It's easy to forget what it feels like to have that abundance of affection, of comfort and support, when inside all you can remember is that which has been lost; a family, a friend, or a lover, sometimes entities that are all three tied neatly into one. Regret is a form of sickness that can infect pure light with its disease, numbing a person from recognizing when a hand is reaching out to take yours to say 'it's okay, you're not alone, not anymore, I'm here and I love you'.

Hermione knew somewhere in her was that person who recognized these things. She knew that she deserved something _more_ than the life she'd carved out for herself, yet, she knew that she wasn't ready to undergo any further transformations. In this case, she put her head before her heart.

A number of days had passed, nearly two weeks since she'd dropped off her parchments to the green eyed woman's empty office, the headmistress hadn't met with her since then. This morning, in particular, Hermione sat around the circular wooden table with the few other professors and staff who remained for the summer months – the summer which was quickly drawing ever closer to fall -, and she ate quietly and listened to the few conversations going on over the eating of breakfast and the drinking of tea or coffee.

Minerva hadn't spoken a word to her besides _Good morning_ , or _Good evening._ She made no approach. Rather the woman kept her distance and, frankly, for that Hermione was pleasantly surprised. She'd begun again to find some sort of routine with her day to day. The Minister frequently owled with information to be researched and undertaken, those inquiries that seemed to keep her far out of harms way. And, again, she didn't mind. Rolonda made sure to keep her in high spirits, or as high in spirits as Hermione could summon.

Unlikely was the friendship between the two women; the elder having had some experience with her pain made it unconventionally comfortable, while Hermione was free to express what ever without the fear of judgement or deceit. The grey haired woman hadn't much family, nor too terribly many close friendships of her own to drag her attention in various directions. Her close ties were mostly within the walls of the castle. Hermione imagined she'd succumb to the same fate. However, as July began to slowly bleed into the beginning of August, she did find herself beginning to wonder what the school year would bring. She was growing _nearly_ excited. Excitement wasn't a feeling she was accustomed to.

A light touch on her arm had the woman relaxing back into her seat, gaze lifting from her emptied plate to meet those golden eyes aimed upon her. Hermione couldn't help but to offer a small, crooked twisting of lips.

"Thinking about a run this morning, Granger? Weather looks fine." Rolonda's brows rose in question, though within the ease of her gaze Hermione had begun to detect that small amount of competition. Competitive, they were... They had been and would be. Always trying to out do the other. And she liked it.

"Always." Hermione replied simply to the pleasure of her companion, and that was that.

Across the table, Minerva often found herself watching. Jealously, so – in some cases. As the younger woman seemed to ease further into her existence, Minerva felt ever more unsettled herself. At the very least, she was, however, glad that Hermione had found a friend. Even if that friend was Rolonda Hooch.

The ebony haired witch would never deny that, to a degree, she blamed her friend for the distance her silence had created. Silence gave way for numerous sins. Although she knew it wasn't the fault of her friend entirely, if at all... There was still that bit that wanted to push the blame onto someone, anyone, other than herself for this massive personal failing.

Even while the rest were still talking amongst themselves, she watched as the two witches quietly rose from their seats and wandered down the hall, away from the rest, passing waves over shoulder and disappearing out of the large room – out of sight, although far from out of mind. Minerva said nothing, _did_ nothing, aside from sit there and sip her tea.

"Quite interesting, isn't it?" Emerald eyes darted to those of blue, peering over the rim of her cup at the small wizard addressing her.

"What is?" She questioned vaguely before sipping some more of the warm, mild tasting liquid. She watched him nod to the large archway, and the place where the women had turned and left.

"Who knew that Miss. Granger and our Rolonda would carry on so well, they would hardly have appeared to have much in common, hmm?" He furthered as unbeknownst to him the discomfort steadily rose.

"It's good that she has made a fast friend, I'm sure in the field of duty she must have been quite lonely... Has she not taken up with anyone, Minerva?" Pomona, ever the eavesdropper, cast her watery gaze upon the Scottish witch who, in turn, lifted a judgmental brow at the salt and pepper haired woman.

"I wouldn't know, Miss. Granger doesn't seem terribly inclined toward dalliances." Minerva replied shortly, only to receive a brief nod and a few vague musings on about how everyone deserves a spot of fun, now and again. Though she couldn't entirely disagree with the thoughts of the witch on a _spot of fun_ , Minerva could no longer really say with the young witch thought to be enjoyable. She no longer knew her. Not like she had. Not anymore.

Feeling somewhat dejected, Minerva excused herself quietly from the table and found herself slipping out of the Great Hall. For a moment, she considered returning to her rooms to recollect and meditate on the current status of things. Although, she suddenly found herself turning toward the courtyard on four paws, lightly trotting off towards the school grounds without a second thought. The grey feline clung to shadows and close to walls until her paws felt the cool grass beneath them. It was uncouth to spy. She was ever so aware. However, this wasn't a spy mission, she convinced herself, it was merely to gauge and to seek out information, it was to better understand. Nothing more, nothing less. Despite the fact that she knew the two women would be entirely unaware of a certain green eyed tabby curled up just beneath the fabric of a tower, watching, as the pair raced around the pitch.

No one knew what the women did on their own, it wasn't anyones business. For the most part they talked and they worked out together, topical conversation that rarely scraped the surface of the mind, which made it pleasurable. Every once in a while in veered into territory that Hermione wasn't entirely accustomed to but Rolonda never pushed or pried. In fact, she seemed to notice rather quickly if it was starting to near unbearable and changed the topic entirely – what a relief it was.

It would be a lie if she said she wasn't growing rather fond of the flying instructor – in fact, it would be a bold faced lie. Sure, they hadn't had much in common when she was young and a student, rather she thought of the woman as more of a _jock_ with more bulk than brain. How she was ever surprised to be proven wrong.

"Don't you ever... Let up? Just a little?" The silver haired woman puffed as she tried to keep up while, at long last, she began to run out of steam. Hermione laughed, pushing on and ever forward, until a glance back caused her to divert and round back to run circles around the doubled over witch behind her.

"And admit defeat? I could never." She rounded and gave the woman's rear a healthy swat with the back of her hand, affording her a scolding look as a ill aimed kick missed its mark. Hermione's lips twisted further into a mischievous grin, lopsided and a little silly, as adrenaline flooded her veins.

"Well... I admit defeat... I am done. You win today." Rolonda straightened and stretched high, willing her burning muscles to loosen. She closed her eyes for a moment, focused on the feel of a good work out, then dropped her arms back to her sides to give her legs a similar treatment, bending them back one at a time and pulling upon ankles to release the tension in her thighs.

Hermione slowed until she merely paced, walking, back and forth. She dropped her chin and breathed deeply the warm, mid morning air, the smell of freshness releasing those endorphins she so craved.

"It's nice to do this," She said finally. "Run with you." Yellow eyes found her. She could almost feel them upon the side of her face as she strolled along, back and forth, her legs positively buzzing with the exertion. "I had a running partner, a work partner, for long time... We used to do this a lot."

"Did you kick his ass unapologetically too?" Was the dry reply she received, as she watched the other witch drop back onto the pitch to sit before laying herself out entirely, her chest rising high and falling low, catching her breath. Hermione's gaze shifted to the grass beneath her feet with every step taken, steps that grew far more languid.

"No," She answered simply, and after a moment of thought. "She kicked my ass, actually. Regularly. She was strong and fast, incredibly agile... A real motivator. But eventually we ran side by side rather than me lagging behind."

Rolonda propped herself on her elbows, her interest somewhat piqued. Never before had she listened to Hermione share many details of this _partner_ she had had. The individual had been eluded to a few times but never quite given a name or a face. It made the woman curious. Although it seemed to be something of a sore venture to discuss.

"You worked together for a good period?" She asked with an air of nonchalance, as though the lightness in her tone and demeanor would grant access to the small talk. And possibly more. The brunette gave a short nod and heaved a heavy sigh.

"Five years."

"That's a decent chunk."

"It could never have been enough." A flash of a look passed from the brunette to the elder woman. It was the kind of look that spoke volumes. There was much to say, few words that could be found to say it, yet, as Hermione paced back and forth, relaxed, a few feet in front of the woman who laid there on the ground, Rolonda could tell that this wasn't a short story. She could nearly see the bricks being laid higher and higher, as the invisible wall threatened to box Hermione in entirely. It was one of those moments where all she could hope for was one to wiggle loose and pop out so that she may peek inside.

"You were very close?" Venturing out into the vast landscape of Hermione's inner workings was like trying to choose the right wire to defuse a bomb. One snip could have led to inevitable chaos, while one could have stopped the clock just before zero. Rolonda was learning this quickly So her questions grew more open ended, less imposing, it granted the opportunity for Hermione to refuse any information. Luckily, it appeared the quick learning was paying off, as the young woman very slowly began to unfold before her very eyes, much to the surprise of a tabby cat who'd managed to creep near by, but out of sight.

"Initially, no... I thought she was arrogant and frivolous," Stated the young professor with the ghost of a smile, a small, almost sad little smile that really could have been missed if one blinked. "But she was one of the most hardworking, intelligent, and well rounded people I'd ever met. She accepted me and my... Unique outlook on life, she... loved me."

To have been loved in such a way was to be set on fire, to be re-imagined, almost free. For those years, Hermione had felt free and she had felt so well taken care of. Rolonda could see it in the way Hermione stood still, her feet coming to a halt, and in the look about the woman's face that whatever she had had or felt was far from over.

"Did it end badly?" Rolonda asked as she slowly rose to her feet. Hermione shook herself from the reverie in which she was drowning and aimed her sights upon the other woman, the woman who stayed her distance but leveled with her gaze. Talking to Rolonda, specifically alone, grew easier. One at a time, she told herself. Piece by piece. For what ever reason, today was the day to lift the corner of the veil and reveal just a little bit – it was what having a friend was for. Still, it was painful, like ripping out fresh stitches. Emotions ran high in the height of summer... When all those awful memories surfaced again, and again. Hermione relented just that little bit.

"Badly... ," She repeated, somewhat transfixed on the word, deciphering it in that way one would when trying to find the falsehood. "It ended _abruptly._ " She corrected after that moments pause.

Standing there on the pitch, far away from stone walls and much farther away from _home_ , in a place that she could hardly recognize as anything other than a monument of the beginning of the end there, off in the distance, as tall and as imposing as it had ever been, Hermione only understood one thing; life was as it was made to be, and nothing would ever really be the same as it once was.

Rolonda peered on with that same curious look, silently questioning, and Hermione felt compelled to tell just a piece of her story. That little bit of history she so neatly concealed. Just for a moment, just to feel that same level of understanding that she craved when no one was really looking, or judging, in the way people often did do. But it was hard. Complicated. As though she hadn't been kicked enough when she was down, it seemed there was yet another blow to knock her just that little bit further into the dirt.

She had loved, she had lost, and then she had loved and lost once again.

This wasn't difficult, it was simple... It wasn't _difficult_ , it was _unbearable._

Understanding this, Hermione placed her hands on her hips and squeezed her sides, feeling that comforting paint of her own fingertips digging into flesh. Her chin dropped again, nearly hitting her chest, as she expelled a deep breath of oxygen, and the secrecy she'd clung to with it. Only for a moment.

"She was my _partner._ We worked together and I just... She was impossible not to love, in a way," Hermione stated as she raised her head, her eyes vaguely peering off at the other end of the Quidditch pitch and focusing just beyond those three rings. "Amelia was... A breath of fresh air. She didn't know me like many people had known me through my academic years, she only knew the person who I was after I had... _Grown up._ Learned my _lessons..._ " The part of herself that she gave to this woman, this heavenly creature who showed her such great compassion and adoration... She often wondered if she could ever find that again, with anyone, or even just alone. All signs led her to believe most likely not. That chapter had closed.

The silver haired woman didn't have to ask any further questions, Hermione could see that massive question mark splashed across her face. Was she abandoned? Why weren't they together now? If it was so damn good, why was she alone? It was at this point that Hermione ventured to explain with candor what she believed to be the upmost truth as her company gazed back at her, and the hidden feline listened while holding her breath.

"It would have been easy if she had simply chosen to break off our relationship," She stated after a moments pause, chocolate brown eyes meeting those of gold which were opposite. "It would have been easy because then I would have been able to accept, despite not ever wanting to part from her, that she had grown unhappy and needed to leave to find happiness. That I could have condoned, because it's only human to want to be happy." Hermione felt herself needing to steady, to breathe, just for a second before continuing, even while she fought to keep her eyes from tearing and to remain stoic in the face of old memories. "Rather than it being as easy and simple as that, it wasn't... Because, you see, she was _taken_ from me by force. We were happy, she was happy, and she wanted to live and be happy with me yet _they_ took her from me in an ambush."

It didn't take Rolonda long to connect the dots and understand, ever more so by the look in the eyes of that young woman, that her lover had been killed. So many lines connecting, so much more made sense, and Hermione was there, standing on the grass in a wide open space on a sunny summer morn, still mourning.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione... That's awf..."

"Yes, well," The brunette cut off her friend before she had the chance to continue and gave her a bland sort of look, as though to say 'such is life'. "It is over, it happened, and I now realize that, unfortunately, people who choose my line of work aren't exactly afforded the luxury of having these... Relationships. And I am fine with being single, I'm happy with my work, and fucking someone senseless isn't nearly as productive as being Kingsley's lap dog."

Yellow eyes scanned her face.

"You believe that?"

"It helps me sleep at night."

And with that, it was clear, Hermione was finished talking on the subject, but Rolonda honestly didn't mind. It was a start. They had discussed her, she had learned something, and the witch wasn't running in the opposite direction... In a large way, it was a progress.

The women turned their attention to other avenues – flying, the upcoming school year, and various other little things. The silver haired witch had taken quite an interest in Hermione's motorbike and that was cause for great joy as, there could never be any doubt, Hermione loved the machine.

As the pair of women left the pitch, Minerva stayed behind, curled up, digesting what it was she had listened to. It could have been considered a tender moment between two friends and she realized that she shouldn't have listened, or heard what Hermione had said in clear confidence to only one person. One person that wasn't herself...

She was _trying_ to give the young woman distance, _trying_ being the key operative word, although it was hard not to have control of the situation. She knew that she had to relinquish the reins but the consistent wondering was driving her to madness quicker than she would have liked to admit. Soon, though, the pair would have to sit down and discuss the upcoming year. If anything, even if their communications were strictly professional, there had to be some give. Some consideration made her wonder if she might want to reach out to a certain Potter for a visit. Maybe some more insight could be gained, however, she wasn't entirely glad to speak behind the back of her newest employ, perhaps, it would shed some more light on how to carry on.

* * *

The day went by quickly and at dinner, Minerva chose to sit behind her desk for tea. She had ample enough work to contend with now that the school year was just around the bend and another few weeks away. Empty halls would be filled to the brim and that warranted preparation. She wasn't expecting a knock at her door, nor was she expecting that when she called for entry to see the brunette woman tucking herself into its entrance and closing that heavy door behind her with a soft click.

When Hermione turned around and looked out across the office to find the emerald eyed witch sitting there, somewhat taken aback by the presence, there was but a moment of discomfort before steps were taken and the woman seated herself beyond the stretch of desk in a chair on the other side, casually.

"You've read through my lesson preparations." It wasn't a question, it was a statement, spoken as such and without much enthusiasm. It was clear in the way the woman sat with the posture of a well composed statue and those eyes that aimed without waver that this was a business call. Minerva leaned forward and folded her hands together upon the surface before her and rested her elbows on its edge, her gaze peeking over the gold rim of glasses upon the woman.

"I have." She replied simply, in waiting for further words.

"Is there anything you'd like to discuss?" Oh, there was much... But that was an aspect Minerva knew she shouldn't shed much upon in their current climate which bordered on cold and unfeeling. The elder witch briefly bent and opened a large desk drawer, withdrawing the paper work she'd placed in there.

"Yes, actually... ," She began while flipping parchments. "Years one through five are adequate, _more_ than adequate, and we're in agreement on them being carried out exactly as you see fit, however, six and seven..." Hermione cleared her throat, uncomfortably, and Minerva stopped. She lifted her gaze to see the woman peering back, her features betraying a brand of misery that only came in the form of scrutiny.

"Forgive me, continue." The woman nearly muttered before relaxing into her chair with the understanding she may be here a while. Minerva did.

"We aren't training soldiers here, Hermione... Ambition is a great gift, to be sure... But some of what you have been planning to teach may seem rather aggressive... These level of jinxes, hexes, and charms are..."

"Dangerous," Hermione interjected without a stitch of trepidation, albeit a bit stiffly. The ebony haired woman paused and stared, waiting for the inevitable debate to be had. "I know they are dangerous, but you have to understand that teaching these isn't to _promote_ violence, it's promoting _awareness_."

"But do _our_ students really need to be aware of how to bleed someone dry? Or.. Or to induce states of unbearable hysteria?"

"Did _our_ students really need to fight a war? A war that has bred even more violence _after_ its conclusion, Headmistress?" Hermione shot back with raised brows, her fingers lacing upon bent knee, as she crossed her legs. The young woman continued as she witnessed lips part opposite her own to speak, cutting off any communication at the knees before she was finished. "You _clearly_ do not know what goes on beyond these walls, Minerva. Some students may not end up at the Ministry of Magic, they may go on to do other things, of course, but do you trust that in their travels they will be able to defend themselves if they aren't privy to _all_ the world has to offer? Good, bad, or ugly?"

"Miss. Granger, what I am saying is that we may want to scale back the gore, we want our students leaving here well rounded, of course, but this is straddling the border of being too much for anyone to handle..." Minerva was afforded a scoff and a shake of the head in disbelief.

"I wonder how many of us wouldn't have died if we had been given real lessons on self defense, _Professor,_ " The brunette nearly growled, her eyes flashing with that bit of frustration. "And that's on your hands, and _his_." An accusing finger aimed vaguely in the direction of Albus Dumbledore's frame, a frame which, that day, was filled and listening with that same spark in his eyes that he had when he was Headmaster. The old man watched the back and forth like a tennis match, but didn't intervene. Not even when his name was used as ammunition for, even in the form of a painting, he couldn't deny she was right.

"It's been nearly _ten_ years, Hermione... Why can't you let it go?!"

" **BECAUSE THEY NEED TO BE PREPARED FOR** _ **EVERYTHING**_ **!** " Thundered the brunette as she leaped to her feet and started pacing, words flying out of her mouth at the speed of light while Minerva just sat there, stunned. "You don't understand! Talk to the Minister, and he'll fucking tell you if you don't choose to believe me, there are _people_ out there that are extremely violent and extremely knowledgeable. Even _I_ have seen things that I never thought possible and when she got hurt, and I couldn't stop it, I knew that there was still so much to _learn_ , I never want anyone to go through that again so they _need_ to _learn_ how to take care of themselves properly! Don't _you_ understand?!"

"When _who_ got hurt, Hermione..." These few words made the woman stop in her tracks when she realized what had flown from her mouth. Her head snapped toward the headmistress who sat there gazing back at her with furrowed brows, as though she didn't already know. She needed to hear it, herself, from the woman. Not by word of mouth and not while eavesdropping. She needed to hear it.

There was a long pause in which both women seemed to be holding their breath. Hermione had done enough sharing for the day, she knew her own patience was growing thin, and the fact that Minerva could even question her in such a way made it all the more difficult _not_ to quit right then and there. There were many secrets, many on both sides, and history that was less than stellar to boot.

"You may have been my _first_ , Minerva... My first in every sense of the word, but you _weren't_ my last." Hermione finally answered. Her tone was flat and the air about her just the same. Minerva slowly rose from her desk and stood, eyeing the other woman with suspicion for she wasn't entirely sure what Hermione had meant by being her _first_. There had been Weasley, there had been Krum... There had even been rumors of a slight dalliance with Luna Lovegood...

"Excuse me?" Hermione turned and faced the woman who questioned her, stepping up opposite on the other side of the desk, her hands coming to rest in the confines of her trouser pockets. She leveled with the woman.

"Out there, things are different, Minerva... Don't fool yourself in thinking you are aware of everything that goes on in this world," Threatening, almost... But most of all imposing was the presence of the woman. "And yes, my first – the first great love, even if only one sided, the first real kiss, the first to take me to bed, all of those things... But not my last. There has been another. But, unfortunately, due to being absolutely unprepared in the line of duty, she's not around any longer. Which is why my lessons may seem aggressive, because I have seen and done some things that you cannot even imagine, and if you want your students to have a fighting chance, I suggest you step down and let me run my lessons on a trial for this year. If they don't work, they don't work, and we can make changes... But if they run smoothly and we face no real challenges, then I would impress upon you to allow me to teach what it is that I know best. Can we at least try that?"

Minerva was speechless. Kingsley hadn't exactly given her the true facts in the matters of Hermione, now Minerva could really see the woman was a force to be reckoned with for she didn't back down. She simply forced herself in. There really could be no argument. But, finally, here and now, there was recognition of the relationship they had shared... And the truth came out.

"You told me there had been others..." Minerva was stuck on one small detail, she had _believed_ , even prayed, that this was confusion. Hermione merely shrugged her shoulders before turning away, assuming that she had acquired what it was she wanted from this and that her lessons were to be carried out as she saw fit now that Minerva was rather taken up with other unnecessary facts.

"I lied." She replied in a short, matter of fact way as, behind her back, the ebony haired woman quickly rounded the edge of her desk and made to step out in front of it, her features pale and bewildered.

"There were others, though... You had been with others before me and you clearly had some experience, I don't understand..." The look on the younger woman's face as she turned half way to peer back just as her hand laid itself on the doorknob made the older witch stop stepping forward. The gap between them remained, Hermione there at the door while Minerva stood with that silly look on her face. Hermione _nearly_ felt sorry. Nearly. Enough time had passed, maybe it'd be the nail in the coffin? Who knew. But maybe with the air cleared, the elder woman would finally get it figured out just how much Hermione could detest her in this moment. Maybe not always, but for now.

"Minerva, you are a smart woman... But sometimes you are so fucking blind," Hermione almost chuckled, but instead just sighed with a small, vaguely amused curling of lips; she had _won,_ in a sense. "I wanted to impress you, I thought that if you knew I had never _fucked_ before that you wouldn't want me, so... I read as much as I could, I learned as much as I could possibly, and then... You took me to bed. But, no... I'd never _been_ taken. And probably won't again because, well..."

She vaguely motioned to herself, her marred visage, with a lax free hand.

"Just look what you made me feel like doing, I'm hardly the pretty, young girl you fingered on that desk." It was vulgar and it was accurate. Hermione even heard a few gasps from some of the more elderly witches and wizards listening in, those who she cast a few cursory glances upon, eyes darting, and watched as those looking down upon her suddenly shifted away.

"Now, you got me here, I'm working here... I'll do my best to be the sort of professor who makes a difference in the lives of my students... Maybe not in the way _you_ did, but that may just be for the best." And with that, Hermione left the office tossing the ever so casual _Have a nice evening_ over her shoulder before the door shut smoothly.

 _"I think I like her more now than I did when she was in my class..."_ Severus's silky voice filled the stark silence, garnering a glare from most other portraits and especially the Headmistress herself. What on earth had she gotten herself into... And how to fix it.

TBC...


	11. Chapter 11

Consequences of Falling

Ch. 11

 _The morning was always a delight when she woke to see long ebony hair fanning out over the pillow next to her own. She laid there for some time just taking in the view, appreciating with the length of time spent gazing, the glory that was the woman beside her in bed. Not a singular shift, not a muscle moved, she just laid there – stillness being the name of the game._

 _It was routine in the morning, most mornings when the pair of women fell asleep together, if Hermione rose quicker, to take that moment for herself. Selfishly. She counted her lucky stars for the gifts she'd been given, to have a glowing reputation and for the life she was beginning to share._

 _When enough time had been paid upon that one simple act of affection – unbeknownst to her lover, of course -, the young witch shifted under the heavy blanket and curled up behind her lover, tucking her legs close behind those curled in front, slipping an arm to wrap around and take hold of one of two, and kissed the back of Minerva's shoulder by way of early greeting. She felt the green eyed woman shift, waking, and watched the tug of a smile gently curl the corner of that beautiful pair of lips._

 _Nothing needed to be said in those moments, they were meant to be quiet. Intimacy was an even greater prize than the sex. Not to be ungrateful because, certainly, the sex was electric but, afterwards, when they had only to relax in one and others arms, that, right there, was what made it even better._

 _Lips pressed small, languid kisses against shoulder blade, trailing up to the back of a slender neck, eliciting a hum of approval and equal appreciation. The smell of loose leaf tea and ginger invaded Hermione's nostrils and proved to be rather provocative, especially as a final kiss was pressed to hair. Slender fingers laced with her own and gave a gentle pull, the sort of pull that was intently directional, as the Scottish witch rolled gently onto her stomach to tug Hermione closer. The young woman nearly blanketed the woman beneath, herself. She laid her cheek against that sweet spot, that space in the middle between shoulder blades, and rested her head. Everything about this simple act was all she had ever wanted to feel, all she had ever hoped to feel, while tangled in tartan sheets._

 _Nevertheless, it was still morning. A saturday morning; a time when no one needed either to be up and out of bed early for any sort of prior engagement. No class to be taken, no class to be taught, no meetings or friends eagerly waiting. They had planned for this, to only spend the day inside, to share breakfast, and to each others company, far away from prying eyes. So what better way to spend it?_

 _While Minerva slipped between consciousness and slumber, her lover laid wide awake. The brunette couldn't deny that she was the kind of woman who needed attention. Not from anyone. Not always. It was her lover's attention that she craved. And with the light of sun quickly filtering in through curtains, she knew the time would come that they would both need to stretch there legs. Just not yet though._

 _She squeezed the hand within hers softly, a small touch which afforded her a soft, unintelligible murmuring into the pillow. Digits withdrew from digits and Hermione could only imagine there better use being exercised elsewhere, Minerva was already highly aware of how her mood fluctuated in the early hours._

 _Fingertips offered a light touch to bare hip, grazing the skin with tenderness and affection, although this small touch afforded her nothing. At least, not the desired effect. The woman hardly stirred. Pressing on could be the only option. Testing the boundary, half laid above the woman beneath, those same fingers curled and Hermione lightly dragged her knuckles over the rounded muscle of her lover's ass, continuing to trail a touch down Minerva's thigh. Even this little interaction with her dearest one had her own center aching with the thought of the roles being reversed. But, of course, the woman didn't budge._

 _'Well, this won't do..' Hermione thought with an air of amusement._

 _The night before had been quiet, content, and gentle. No surprises. It was fine and alright, however, Hermione hadn't been given much of a chance for reciprocation. After all had been said and done, Minerva simply wrapped her up in her arms and snuggled her woman tightly. Much to Hermione's dismay, as she had really looked forward to returning the 'affection'. The softness hadn't been exactly what she had wanted but, by the way it seemed to greatly please her partner, how could she deny it? Besides... As always, it was still amazing._

 _Hermione rarely ventured into being the one to initiate, she feared that taking the control for herself and utilizing it, well... It might just turn the older, more experienced witch off. She didn't know. They were in a good place right now, in life and in love, though they were quite secretive, she knew, it was for the best. But she didn't always want to feel this way, afraid of displeasing her lover. Minerva wasn't her master or mistress, they were equal partners, with equal desire, so... Should she not exercise the right?_

 _With a surge of confidence, Hermione ever so slightly lifted and ran her fingertips through her own wetness. By then she was so overcome, so wanting, that the pads of her fingers were met with the kind of slickness that felt like she'd been brought to climax. She bit her lip hard, trying not to make any noise from the feel of her own digits brushing against that small bundle of nerves they were terrifyingly close to grazing, all the while, even still, she laid with her cheek pressed to her lover's back, her ear listening to the heartbeat through the flesh beneath._

 _It really was now or never..._

 _Lubed, as well as she could have been, the witch ever so gently removed her hand from her own sex and shifted her knee where it rested between those two belonging to the ebony haired woman, spreading her thighs just a little bit more, just enough, so that when she slowly slipped her hand between them, her wetted fingertips could lightly stroke her lover in the most intimate way._

 _Unknown to the younger woman above, Minerva's eyes flew wide open. It took her a moment, perhaps a moment too long, to realize what was happening. She felt the first, questioned it – as her mind was fogged from the deep sleep she had been previously knocked out by -, but it wasn't until she felt her lover properly run her fingers through her slick folds and find her clit that she could react._

 _Whatever she had done, the way those fingertips circled, sent a sensation through her body that caused her back to arch. Whether expected, unexpected, surprised or not... It was spontaneous and felt rather good._

 _"Good morning, Minerva..." She heard her lover greet in a deepened tone, nearly sing song – if that song were to be called 'I'm going to take you and you're going to like it'. The older woman didn't respond immediately, not when all she could do was press back into that hand gasp when Hermione's fingers lifted only fractionally to circle her entrance. If she hadn't been wet, now she was. She could feel it._

 _"Please..." The older woman hissed. Oh, how she had been so unaware of how badly she wanted it. Hermione hadn't ever been one to take the reins and steer, she'd given Minerva the opportunity to do as she pleased more often than not, and though the woman did love to have that control, for her young lover to just wake her by nothing more than this... It was something she could get used to. She could get very used to it. Very quickly._

 _"Please." Begged the woman again, nearly strained, but her pleading evolved into another, far more sharp, gasp punctuated by a deep, growling moan as two long, slender fingers plunged within. There they stilled._

 _From above, Hermione had already shifted herself onto her knees and propped herself on an elbow. She kept her lover trapped beneath but allowed only for the other woman to raise her hips from the mattress, fractionally. 'Please' was all she needed to hear. It was all she had wanted in that moment – to hear Minerva beg to be fucked by her, alone._

 _The sounds the older woman made, the way she tried mightily to force herself back onto the fingers held deep within the absolute center of her, made it all the more enjoyable, Hermione had never had such control, she'd never been given opportunity to, and now... There the woman was, at the height of power, biting her bottom lip to stifle the joyous chuckle threatening to rise in her throat at the feel of the Scottish woman forcing herself back upon her hand, literally fucking herself on her fingers, while she got to choose when and how she wanted to proceed._

 _"I adore you." Hermione, finally, whispered against the back of the womans' neck as she slowly began to forcibly thrust her digits into her professor. It was all Minerva wanted or needed. She had to hide her face against the pillow to curse and to growl her strangled moans, muffling her delighted yells of pleasure, as this woman drove her mad from behind. With each stroke her fingers plummeted further into her depths, harder than the last, faster, she couldn't deny how intoxicating it was, that all it took was one small flick of her clit with the pad of Hermione's thumb to send her through the roof and out into orbit – a place where if she yelled the womans' name in orgasm, she wouldn't be heard. Unlike that room, which was filled with her voice._

 _It was more than the cries of passion... It was the feeling of Minerva contract around her fingers, feeling the woman lose herself entirely, that gave Hermione immense pleasure. That she was the one to give her that, was her most crowning achievement._

 _Collapsing together, muscles burning with the strain, Minerva almost had forgotten those three small words Hermione had said: I adore you..._

 _It might have been a dream, it might have not been true, but she was sure she had heard it... She was positive._

* * *

The young professors mind was positively brimming. The hour was late, she had avoided most communal meals for the day, save for breakfast, which was actually quite the uncomfortable experience. There she was, five steps a head of the game, yet, what she thought would have made her feel so much better actually, somehow, managed to make her feel worse.

She had _won_. She had _control_.

It was as simple as that.

So then why did she feel somewhat cross with herself over the fact that she had forced her antagonizer into a corner and received the upper hand?

A bottle of whiskey bled into a bottle of scotch, and that bottle soon was drained dry as a bone. Hermione paced the length of her quarters, restlessly – a beast in a cage -, muttering to herself about _what had she done to ever deserve this_? She fought a fucking war, for Merlin's sake! And they'd come out on top! The confusion was stifling.

A knock on her door caused the woman to spin back in the direction of it just as she'd taken the first step away, she stared at it for a moment, wondering if it had only been conjured by imagination. Three knocks, louder than the last, sounded through her rooms with persistence. She swayed languidly to the door with a little bitter shake of the head and reached for the handle, turning and pulling to reveal a foreign pair of eyes.

The two peered back and forth between themselves, silent. Uncomfortably, the man before her shifted and aimed a glance down the corridor before turning his sights back upon his _old friend._

"Heya, can I come in?" The second youngest Weasley asked as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Hermione didn't respond, not in the verbal sense, she merely stepped back and held open the door, waiting for the man to walk through.

For the life of her she couldn't understand why there was need for a surprise visit, at such a late hour, especially when he knew how she could be in the night time. Hermione had a reputation for not being very pleasant company in the later hours. Most certainly not in her state of drunk. Yet, here he was.

"Nice place, going to decorate..." Hermione closed the door and turned back to look at the red headed wizard with scrutiny.

"What are you doing here, Ronald?" She asked point blank, her feet leading her in a vaguely off line towards her empty bottles and fractionally filled glass. Passed him she walked into her small kitchen and discarded the glass into a bin to be vanished later. From the fridge, she took out another, all the while the man kept a close eye on the witch practically swaying about the confines of her rooms. She was drunk, and he knew it. He hated to say he was used to it. Clearing his throat a bit, he rocked on his heels somewhat, habitually, and cast a look about the undecorated, bland looking room. Her only mark had been made by the amount of books on her shelves. Aside from that... Nothing.

"Mum's been asking about you, she misses you... You haven't been by in a long time, you know?" He tried to soften his voice, aiming for compassion, although he knew why all too well. It was a place she'd brought _her_. The American, he called her... But not without some affection. He'd liked the woman, she was a clever one. But now... Radio silence.

"Tell her I'll come by for tea soon."

"We both know you won't, why lie? I just thought you should know that you're missed..." He watched Hermione uncork her bottle and pour another three finger serving, her eyes flashing with some emotion; anger, maybe?

"I'm very busy, Ron. You know that." She stated airily and with a note of condescension, as if he should know better. She spoke to him as though she was chastising a child who'd asked to play while she was at work, he hated that tone. And unlike Harry, he wasn't terribly concerned about showing it.

"Hermione... What's wrong with you? You know, you have a family, friends, and this... ," The man gestured to the length of his friend, his face twisting into some mixture of frustration and mild disgust. "Look at you, what you're doing to yourself... We never _see_ you."

"I've been fucking busy, _Ron,_ " Hermione shot back, meaning to take a step forward, however, her shin clipped the corner of the coffee table in front of her leather couch and sent the witch cursing its existence as she collapsed down on the furniture, spilling her drink on the carpet and a bit of the uncovered stone floor. "God damn it! _Fucking bastard_! You know how much I hate being interrupted at night!"

"You hate being _interrupted_ all the fucking time, you _drunken_ twat!" She glared at him for a moment, however, decided he wasn't entirely wrong and relented with a slight shake of the head, her hand reaching to rub what she assumed was going to be a bruise.

"You know why I don't visit." Muttered the woman as she sipped on the last remnants of what was left in her glass, taking a glance at the man standing there awkwardly over the rim.

Those few feet apart, one sitting on the edge of the coffee table while the other stood off beside the arm of the couch, it felt like miles of separation. They were in two different parts of the world. Ron knew it, Hermione didn't seem to care, and there was nothing anyone could ever say to the woman. Frankly, he was sick of this... _Attitude_. Even if it was the last thing he ever said... He decided that over a year of absolute silence was enough.

"Do you want to know why I came here? How I heard about _how_ you got in _here_?" The man seemed to look at her in that way when one knew something. Something more that she did not. If it was anything that would warrant a reaction, it was certainly that. Hermione's brows furrowed, her features showing signs of anger and slight bewilderment at his wordage.

" _How_ I got in _here..._ You say that as though..."

"You have built yourself quite the reputation, old friend." Ron cut her off and pulled his hands from his pockets, folding his arms over his chest, as his pair of hardening eyes stared her down. Time had done well for the man, he wasn't nearly as bumbling or confused as he had been in his Hogwarts years. He had done well for _himself_ , she should say. Working for the Ministry, mostly with Harry, the boys who had never returned to school. Unlike her, who had needed in someway to finish what she had started at Hogwarts... Now she was back again.

Hermione tilted her head, eyeing him, trying to decipher exactly what it was he was getting at. She despised guessing games.

"Do you think I'm _not_ supposed to be here, Ronald? That I haven't garnered enough knowledge over the past... Well, since the beginning of this madness with you and Harry? I am a prime candidate, despite prior teaching experience..." The look on his face made her words falter and her tone began to lack its previous confidence – he almost looked... Sad? Was it _sad_? He unlocked his defensive arms and sighed deeply, slipping himself between the coffee table and couch, mumbling about the situation itself.

Ron seated himself in front of Hermione, he reached out for her knees and made the woman turn her body properly to face him, though he didn't remove them. Seated there on the edge of the couch, he looked at her and tried to level himself, he held her knees and she found herself for the first time really wondering what the fuck was going on...

"Kingsley, and the Order, they requested this for you, Hermione." He stated clearly, albeit softly, and in a way that was willing her to understand this. Imploringly, he gazed at her face, tracing it quickly, looking for cracks, she supposed. Instead, he was gifted with her just staring back, taking that little bit in. It didn't take long for the heat to rise in her cheeks and cause a furious flush to creep up the side of her neck.

"They _requested_... For me." She regurgitated those words and watched him give a nod, a grave little nod, although he didn't look off and away.

"You aren't _well_ , Hermione, you aren't well at all."

"Who the _fuck_ are you, or anyone, to decide for me whether or not I am well, I'm fine. Better than fine..." She shot back immediately, readying herself to stand, although... Ron quickly rose with his friend and knocked her back down on her ass with ease.

" _You._ Sit your butt down there." He growled furiously. Mild mannered, Ronald... Or, at least, the mild man she'd grown to know as an adult, was not so much in the current state to exude calm, collected, and easy going. No, rather he had his wand aimed and hers... She glanced between the tip of his wand and her bedroom door, where beyond, her own lay on the night stand. "Now you're going to listen..."

"Doesn't look like I have much choice." She mumbled, reaching for her bottle and discarding the glass entirely. Watching his friend sit there, reach for the drink as she always seemed to, looking like an absolute fucking waste who hardly cared to listen to him, or anyone who gave a rats ass, infuriated the man beyond belief. Enough was enough.

"You know, being the voice of reason isn't my forte, Hermione... That has always been your job, not your responsibility, but it was the role you carved out for yourself," The woman scoffed and chuckled darkly, still, he pressed on. "Lavender had a miscarriage five months ago... Did you know?"

It was this that made the woman's cheeky smirk fade. With knitted brows, she finally turned her face to look up at the man. Bags under the eyes, a little paler than usual... A bit more slender in the face. He drew out the silence because he wanted to see if there was just a hint of something other than internalized anger and, much to his surprise, there seemed to be something there other than rage. She was actually looking at him, looking at and _seeing_ him, for the first time in a very long time.

"My wife lost our baby and I wanted to talk to my _best_ friend, and I couldn't. Because Merlin only knows _where_ you were and even if I had found you... Would you have _cared_? Would you have actually _cared_ for anyone else besides yourself and your own _fucked_ up little life?" Lowering his wand, Ron looked off and away from the watery eyed woman and gave a sad little laugh, shaking his head, appearing as though he could hardly believe any of this, and its difficulty. "You don't _care_ about anything, I thought all our troubles were solved when you met... You know, _her._ And now you've gone through a lot and no one is arguing with you that you haven't, and we're not saying that what happened to her you've done to yourself because that was an accident... A horrible, _horrible_ accident..."

If she tried to fight it... She knew it was going to happen far worse, so when she felt her lip and muscles begin to tremble, she just allowed it. She let her eyes fill. With the alcohol and the harsh truths, what could she possible do? So she listened. She listened to Ron, of all people, say the things that she needed to hear.

"People are terrified of you, _we_ are scared _FOR_ you... Look at you, I get it... You want to make the twisted, angry, bitch on the outside match that twisted, angry, sad, hurt, person on the inside..." Tucking his wand away, Ron brushed his hands back through his hair and kept them there, cupping the back of his head, now entirely looking away from the woman and at the floor. "But we love you and this is the best place for you, far away from the killing and the nearly getting yourself killed because... You are my _best_ friend. I can't imagine a world without _you_ in it, even if the world _you_ live in has nothing to do with me anymore."

The man couldn't see the woman rise, didn't hear those couple of steps, and it wasn't until he made to glance in her direction that his eyes fell upon her hip, and the two hands that reached for the front of his coat. His own larger immediately fell to those which belonged to the witch and held them away, not far, but just enough so it was made clear that he didn't want her fingers to find his jacket.

Ron lifted his gaze to see that her eyes shone with tears. A few had managed to snake lines down her cheeks, yet, as much as he wanted to offer her comfort all he could manage to do was hold her hands.

"I... I am so, so sorry, Ron." Her voice was only above a whisper, her voice slightly wavering but without much volume.

" _Prove it,_ Hermione. Get well." He spoke to her in a tone filled with enunciation, meaning business, in a sense. Ron was hardly ready to forgive, this was non-negotiable. If she could try to be a bit more human then, maybe, maybe they could find their way back. So much was different, he knew it would never be exactly the same as it once was, but to aim for _good,_ at least... That could be something to be proud of.

He let go of her hands and brushed passed the woman, making his way for the door. When he reached it, he opened it, but he paused. Half turning back to see the woman still standing there, her hands hovering slightly where he had been that split second before, the man took a moment, breathing it in, then parted his lips to speak.

"Harry and I, and Ginny and mom and dad... Everyone who loves you as much as we do, and have for such a long time, we are very sorry for everything that you've lost, it wasn't fair to you... But if you refuse to see what it is you still have then... Yeah, you're going to be alone for the rest of your life. Part of you dug the hole, love... You need to dig yourself out now."

And with that, he was gone.

When she heard the door shut behind her, Hermione couldn't bring herself to move. Ronald, of all people, to come here and tell her the what's-what... He was right, being the voice of reason _wasn't_ his forte, however, no one had yet given her that frank honestly that he was so willing to. People parted like the Red Sea when she walked into a room... She had thought it was respect, to learn it could have been terror... Now that was news. Awful news.

She came to with a sudden jolt and dropped her hands to her sides, she looked around her stark living space and realized she didn't want to be there. It wasn't home, it wasn't comfort, it was just a shell... For now. She couldn't do a thing to change it at the moment, not in her current state of inebriation and absolute sadness, so she left. She slipped on her shoes, opened the door, and walked out, leaving that scene behind.

Hardly knowing where she was leading herself to, she wasn't entirely aware what it was she was looking for, it wasn't until her hand raised and she knocked on a door that she knew exactly what she wanted. It was a strange, and mixed up, kind of fucked up feeling.

When that door opened and a pair of yellow eyes scanned her features, the silver haired woman, clearly still awake, on the other side looked upon her with concern. The young woman was, essentially, crying. There were tears running down her cheeks and she looked... So much younger than she had those hours ago over breakfast, she was glowing almost.

"I.. Need something." Hermione quickly wiped her cheeks with shaky fingers and cleared her tightened throat, a throat that would only let words laced with grit be afforded. Rolonda's mouth fell open slightly, as though she was about to speak, however, she stopped briefly to think.

"What can I do?"

"I'm not asking you to have sex with me but I need you to hold me. Please."

Stunned by the candid request, realizing that something was very, very wrong if the woman she knew to be so... Well, _cold_ for a lack of a better word was asking to be held, Rolonda stepped back and allowed the woman to pass through. She wondered whether she should go to the headmistress... On a basis more professional. But no... She would be a friend for now. So she closed the door behind the young woman and led her to bed to fulfill whatever desire for being held the woman had without second thought. Tomorrow, perhaps, she would talk to Minerva...

TBC...


End file.
